Lo! from his Eastern heights sublime,
I hear the herald's joyous warning;
Day's glory deepens; far upclimb
The rosy splendors of the morning;
See yon triumphant steeds of light
Chase the retreating hosts of night;
The valleys sing, the hills rejoice,
And sounds aloft one cheering voice,
“'Tis coming. Yes, 'tis coming.”
'Tis coming. Yes, our night of tears
Shall fade before Immanuel's glory,
Which now, to gild our earth, appears,
Foretold in ancient song and story,
Foretold in that seraphic strain,
With notes which haunt our world again;
For, traveling through the shadowy years,
The Just, the Merciful, appears.
Behold! the Lord is coming.
—Zion's Herald.