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.