’Tis night—but O the joyful morn
Will soon our waiting spirits cheer;
Yon gleams of coming glory warn
Thy saints, O Lord, that Thou art near. Lord of our hearts, beloved of Thee,
Weary of earth, we sigh to rest,
Supremely happy, safe and free,
For ever on Thy tender breast. To see Thee, love Thee, feel Thee near,
Nor dread, as now, Thy transient stay;
To dwell beyond the reach of fear
Lest joy should wane or pass away. Children of hope, belovèd Lord!
In Thee we live, we glory now;
Our joy, our rest, our great reward,
Our diadem of beauty, Thou! And when exalted, Lord, with Thee,
Thy royal throne at length we share;
To everlasting Thou shalt be
Our diadem, our glory there! |
