Ye Heav’ns, with Sounds of Triumph Ring

Ye heav’ns

with sounds of tri­umph ring;

Ye an­gels

burst in­to a song;

Jesus des­cends

vic­tor­ious king

And leads His shin­ing train along.

Ye saints that sleep in dust

arise;

Let joy re-ani­mate your clay;

Spring to your Sav­ior thro’ the skies

And round His throne your hom­age pay.

Then let the sons of Heav’n draw nigh

While to th’as­ton­ished hosts you tell

How fee­ble mor­tals rose so high

From graves and worms

from sin and hell.

Tell them

in ac­cents like their own

What an in­car­nate God could do;

Then point to Je­sus on the throne

And boast

that Je­sus died for you.

Transported

they no more can hear;

Their voic­es catch the sac­red name;

Harmonious to His Fa­ther’s ear

Jesus the God

their harps pro­claim.

Sin hath its dire in­cur­sions made

That Thou might’st prove Thy pow­er to save;

And death its en­signs wide di­splayed

That Thou might’st tri­umph o’er the grave.