GIVE me the wings of faith to rise
   Within the veil, and see
The saints above, how great their joys,
    How bright their glories be.
2  Once they were mourners here below,
    And poured out cries and tears;
They wrestled hard, as we do now,
    With sins and doubts and fears.
3  I ask them whence their victory came:
    They, with united breath,
Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb,
    Their triumph to His death.
4  They marked the footsteps that He trod,
    His zeal inspired their breast;
And, following their incarnate God,
    Possess the promised rest.
5  Our glorious Leader claims our praise
    For His own pattern given;
While the long cloud of witnesses
    Show the same path to Heaven.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748