Come, dear Saviour, come in glory;
Take thy wearied servants home:
We would bow in love before thee;
We would greet the loved ones gone.
We have waited long in sorrow;
We have toiled and struggled long;
Speed the bright, the joyful morrow;
Haste the victor’s shout and song. Earth beneath the curse yet mourneth;
Plagues abound—death, misery:
List, the whole creation groaneth,—
Let it thy salvation see.
Nations all with fear are quaking,
From the dungeon to the throne;
Rise, O God, the heavens shaking;
Take the kingdom for thine own. Sound the trump of solemn warning;
Let thy shout the saints awake;
Clad in robes of bright adorning,
To thyself thy loved ones take.
Now prepare thy saints to meet thee;
Help us each to do thy will;
Then with joy we soon shall greet thee,
With thee stand on Zion’s hill.