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O, let us exalt our dear Lord and proclaim,
In songs of true gratitude, praise to His name!
As songs of the angels in sweetest accord,
Our thanks and our praises shall rise to the Lord.
-- Zion's Harp # 165
Hymn Information

How Shall It Be

Karl Johann Philipp Spitta
Edward Meimeyer
A. H. M.
Alternate Zion's Harp Numbers: 180
How shall it be when we at last returning
From weary wand'rings and from toil and strife,
Shall reach the home for which our heart is yearning
And enter into everlasting life?
When from our feet the dust of earth has vanished,
The last sweat from our brow is wiped away,
Our eyes behold what oft earth's care has banished
And gave to us new courage on our way.

How shall it be when tremblingly we listen
To angel bands who greet us with their song,
With harps of gold which in their radiance glisten,
They praise the Lamb, which saved the bloodwashed throng?
When far and near the holy place resoundeth
With "Hallelujahs" which the ransomed sing,
The holy incense of their prayer aboundeth,
Rolls upward to the throne of God, the King.

How shall it be when now the soul, unfettered,
Goes soaring upward in unhindered flight,
Drawn on by love to Him whose light has scattered
The darkness which hid heaven from our sight?
When from the eye of faith the veil of dullness,
As mist before the morning sun doth fall,
And we the Son of God in all His fullness
Behold upon His throne, the Lord of All?

How shall it be when we shall hear Him calling:
"Come now, ye blessed of My Father's grace!"
And worshipping, upon His footstool falling,
We look into that kind and smiling face?
The eyes which shed those bitter tears, well knowing
Man's wretchedness and hardness of his heart;
The wounds, with that pure, precious blood o'erflowing
Which saved us from death's dread and poisoned dart!

How shall it be, when we in close relation
With holy saints the streets of heaven tread;
Where trees of life, fresh as in first creation,
By waters from the stream of life are fed?
Where fountains of eternal youth shall flourish,
The hand of time no more shall work decay,
No eyes shall close in death, no more souls perish;
Pain, sorrow and distress have passed away!

How shall it be? Oh, what this mortal vision
Can neither see, nor hear, nor understand,
Of happiness and glory shall be given
To those who pass into that promised land!
Then onward, brethren! Let us hasten thither,
'Tis worth the hardship and the pain we bear
To climb this path, for there shall never wither
The blest inheritance which we shall share!

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