Ye angels, who stand round the throne

Ye angels, who stand round the throne,

And view my Immanuel's face,

In rapturous songs make him known;

Oh, tune your soft harps to his praise.

Ye saints, who stand nearer than they,

And cast your bright crowns at his feet,

His grace and his glory display,

And all his rich mercy repeat.

He snatched you from hell and the grave;

He ransomed from death and despair;

For you he is mighty to save,

And faithful to bring you safe there.

Oh, when will the moment appear,

When I shall unite in your song?

I'm weary of lingering here;

For I to your Saviour belong.

I'm fettered and chained here in clay;

I struggle and pant to be free;

I long to be soaring away,

My God and my Saviour to see.