The Lord will
come! the
earth shall
quake,
The hills
their fixèd
seat forsake;
And,
withering
from the
vault of
night,
The stars
withdraw
their feeble
light.
The
Lord will
come! but not
the same
As once in
lowly form He
came,
A silent Lamb
to slaughter
led,
The bruised,
the
suffering,
and the dead.
The Lord
will come! a
dreadful
form,
With wreath
of flame, and
robe of
storm,
On cherub
wings, and
wings of
wind,
Anointed
Judge of
humankind.
Can this
be He once
wont to stray
A pilgrim on
the world’s
highway,
By power
oppressed,
and mocked by
pride
O God! is
this the
Crucified?
Go,
tyrants, to
the rocks
complain!
Go, seek the
mountain’s
cleft in
vain!
But faith,
victorious
o’er the
tomb,
Shall sing
for joy, “The
Lord is
come!”
