1 Ye holy angels bright,
Who wait at God's right hand,
Or through the realms of light
Fly at your Lord's command,
Assist our song, or else the theme
Too high doth seem for mortal tongue.

2 Ye blessèd souls at rest,
Who ran this earthly race
And now, from sin released,
Behold your Savior's face,
God's praises sound, as in His light
With sweet delight ye do abound.

3 Ye saints, who toil below,
Adore your heavenly King,
And onward as ye go
Some joyful anthem sing;
Take what He gives, and praise Him still,
Through good or ill, who ever lives.

4 My soul, bear thou thy part,
Triumph in God above,
And with a well-tuned heart
Sing thou the songs of love;
Let all thy days till life shall end,
Whate'er He send, be filled with praise.

Amen.

The Hymnal: Published by the authority of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., 1895