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I

THOU

HOU art coming, O my Saviour,
Thou art coming, O my King,
In thy beauty all-resplendent
In thy glory all-transcendent;
Well may we rejoice and sing;
Coming! In the opening east
Herald brightness slowly swells;
Coming! O my glorious Priest,
Hear we not thy golden bells?

2 Thou art coming, thou art coming;
We shall meet thee on thy way,

We shall see thee, we shall know thee,
We shall bless thee, we shall show thee
All our hearts could never say;
What an anthem that will be,
Bringing out our love to thee,
Pouring out our rapture sweet
At thine own all-glorious feet.
3 Thou art coming; at thy table
We are witnesses for this;
While remembering hearts thou meetest
In communion clearest, sweetest,
Earnest of our coming bliss,

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I

THE

HE Bridegroom comes; Bride of the Lamb, awake!
The midnight cry is heard; thy sleep forsake.

The marriage-day has come; lift up thy head,
Put on thy bridal robe, the feast is spread.

2 Shake off earth's dirt, and wash thy weary feet;
Arise, make haste, go forth, the Bridegroom greet.
Sing the new song! thy triumph has begun;
Thy tears are wiped away, thy night is done!

A-men.

232

WAITING FOR THE LORD.

H. Bonar.

VIGILATE. S. M. D.

C. Steggall.

2

HE Church has waited long

THE

Her absent Lord to see;

And still in loneliness she waits
A friendless stranger she.
Age after age has gone,
Sun after sun has set,

And still in weeds of widowhood,
She weeps, a mourner yet.

Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earth
Has lived, and loved, and died;
And as they left us one by one,
We laid them side by side.
We laid them down to sleep,
But not in hope forlorn-

We laid them but to slumber there
Till the last glorious morn.

Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

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To share thy crown and glory then,
As now we share thy grace.

Should not the loving Bride

The absent Bridegroom mourn?

Should she not wear the weeds of grief
Until her Lord return?

Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

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I

REAT God! what do I see and hear?—

GR

The end of things created!

Behold the Judge of man appear,

On clouds of glory seated!

The trumpet sounds-the graves restore
The dead which they contained before!
Prepare, my soul, to meet him!

2 The dead in Christ shall first arise,
At the last trumpet's sounding,
Caught up to meet him in the skies,
With joy their Lord surrounding:
No gloomy fears their souls dismay,
His presence sheds eternal day,

On those prepared to meet him.

A-men.

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