6,5,6,5,6,5,6,5,6,5,6,5 Hark the voice of angels. Listen to their praise; Christ the Lord of glory Is their song always; Never are they weary, Ever do they sing, For they dwell in Zion, And they love its King. Hark! they tell the glory Of the heavenly King; Glad their hearts to serve Him, Glad the praise they bring. Hark! the voice of children, In the heavenly throng; And they praise the Saviour, With a sweeter song; For He died to save them, In His matchless love, And rejoicing brought them To His home above. Hark! they tell the wonders Of redeeming grace; Dwelling in the sunshine Of the Saviour's face. Hark! the voice of children, Singing here below -- Pilgrims on a journey, Up to Zion we go; Faint our youthful praises, Sweeter yet we'll sing, When we reach the palace Of the heavenly King. Hark! the voice of children, Singing here below -- Pilgrims on a journey, Up to Zion we go. Hail the smile of morning! Hills and valleys sing, Sunlight is adorning Every pleasant thing; Not a note of sadness Mars the tuneful lay; Melody of gladness Greets the coming day. Lend your gleeful voices, Children, to the lay; Morn of life rejoices, As the morn of day. Love is like the morning, Smiling from the hills; All our life adorning, Banishing our ills; In the love that greets us, Every opening day, God our Father meets us, Smiling on our way. Let our hearts adoring, God of love adore; Aye His grace imploring That we love Him more. |