O HOW THE THOUGHT THAT I SHALL KNOW

O how the thought that I shall know
Jesus, who suffered here below
To manifest God's favour;
For me and all the saints I love,
Both here and with Himself above,
Should my delighted spirit move
At that sweet word, for ever.

For ever to behold Him shine,
For evermore to call Him mine,
And see Him still before me;
For ever on His face to gaze,
And meet His full assembled rays,
While all His beauty He displays
To all His saints in glory.

Not all things else are half so dear
As is His blissful presence here;
What must it be in heaven?
'Tis heaven on earth we hear Him say,
As now we journey day by day,
Poor sinner, cast thy fears away,
Thy sins are all forgiven.

But how will His celestial voice
Make our enraptured hearts rejoice
When we shall stand before Him;
When we for Him no longer wait,
But, opened wide the heavenly gate,
We rise our glorious Lord to meet,
And all His saints adore Him.

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