1 

Father, to Thee a joyful song we raise

         With all Thine own;

And in Thy presence sound a note of praise

         To Thee alone;

Bro't nigh, bro't home to Thee — O wondrous grace,

That gives us now with Thine own Son our place.

 2 

How deep the holy joy that fills that scene,

         Where love is known!

Thy love, our God and Father, now is seen,

         In Him alone;

As, in the holy calm of Thine own rest,

He leads the praise of those Thy love has blessed.

 3 

He leads the praise! How precious to Thine ear

         The song He sings!

How precious, too, to Thee — How near how dear

         Are those He brings

To share His place: 'twas thus that Thou didst plan;

Thou lovedst Him before the world began.