THE COMING OF THE SON OF MAN IN THE CLOUDS OF HEAVEN.
A cloud! a cloud! lo, in the east— In size 'tis not a hand, And at the cloud a little flock, Wistfully looking stand. Anon it comes, and brighter grows, And larger still, and fair; It is a beauteous thing of light, Still floating on the air. Why gaze the eager multitude, The living who remained? Why stand they gazing up to heaven? This Jesus comes again. For see, his sign upon the sky, The glorious beaming cloud, It comes, it comes, the Lord is nigh! Proclaim the waiting crowd. Around the cloud the angels bright Are ranged ten thousand strong; All shining in their robes of light, All swelling triumph's song. O glory! glory! on it comes, The cloud and retinue, And O the gladness and the joy Of all the waiting few. This is our God, we've waited long! The little flock exclaim, And now we'll swell the conqueror's song, And praise King Jesus' name!