1 O had I wings to fly above,
And see that blessed world of love;
See what the Saints are doing there,
That each a shining garment wear.

2 See how they stand around the throne,
Theres not a tear nor yet a groan,
For each of these are truly blest,
That have receiv'd the promis'd rest.

3 There sits King Jesus cloth'd in light,
His saints behold him with delight,
Now at one sight their eyes may see,
His glory in eternity.

4 They cast their crowns down at his feet,
And language much like this repeat;
How can we be with glory crown'd,
When cruel thorns thy hid dead wound?

5 Tis dear majestic head their shines,
With majesty that's all divine,
And from his sparkling eyes such love,
That fills the shining world above.

6 How can we be content below,
Till we the joys of heaven know;
Come fly and seize the promis'd rest,
Obey and be forever blest.

7 My soul unglu'd from things below,
And chuse the joys above to know,
Spread over me thy balmy wings,
Lest I return to sensual things.