Hymn 41 by Isaac Watts
The same; or, The martyrs glorified.
"These glorious minds, how bright they shine!
Whence all their white array?
How came they to the happy seats
Of everlasting day?"
From torturing pains to endless joys
On fiery wheels they rode,
And strangely washed their raiment white
In Jesus' dying blood.
Now they approach a spotless God,
And bow before his throne
Their warbling harps and sacred songs
Adore the Holy One.
The unveiled glories of his face
Amongst his saints reside,
While the rich treasure of his grace
Sees all their wants supplied.
Tormenting thirst shall leave their souls,
And hunger flee as fast;
The fruit of life's immortal tree
Shall be their sweet repast.
The Lamb shall lead his heav'nly flock
Where living fountains rise;
And love divine shall wipe away
The sorrows of their eyes.