Come, we that love the Lord, And let our joys be known; Join in a song with sweet accord, And thus surround the throne. We're marching to Zion, Beautiful, beautiful Zion; We're marching upward to Zion, The beautiful city of God. The hill of Zion yields A thousand sacred sweets Before we reach the heav'nly fields, Or walk the golden streets. Then let our songs abound, And every tear be dry; We're marching through Immanuel's ground, To fairer worlds on high.