Creator of the world, to thee
An endless rest of joy belongs;
And heavenly choirs are ever free
To sing on high their festal songs.

But we are fallen creatures here,
Where pain and sorrow daily come;
And how can we in exile drear
Sing out, as they, sweet songs of home?

O Father, who dost promise still
That they who mourn shall blessed be,
Help us to grieve for deeds of ill
That banish us so long from thee:

And, while we grieve, give faith to rest
In hope upon thy loving care;
Till thou restore us, with the blest,
Their songs of praise in heaven to share.


C. Coffin
tr. Compilers of Hymns Ancient and Modern