Come, Come, Ye Saints

Come, Come, Ye Saints


Come, come, ye Saints,
no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way. Though hard to you this
journey may appear, Grace shall be as your day. ‘Tis better far for us to strive Our useless cares
from us to drive; Do this, and joy your
hearts will swell– All is well! All is well! Why should we mourn or
think our lot is hard? ‘Tis not so; all is right. Why should we think
to earn a great reward If we now shun the fight? Gird up your loins;
fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; And soon we’ll have
this tale to tell– All is well! All is well! We’ll find the place
which God for us prepared, Far away in the West, Where none shall come
to hurt or make afraid; There the Saints
will be blessed. We’ll make the air
with music ring, Shout praises to
our God and King; Above the rest these
words we’ll tell– All is well! All is well! And should we die before
our journey’s through, Happy day! All is well! We then are free from
toil and sorrow, too; With the just we shall dwell! But if our lives
are spared again To see the Saints
their rest obtain, Oh, how we’ll make
this chorus swell– All is well! All is well! Happy day! All is well! All is well!

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