Arise, sons of the king­dom!
The King is draw­ing nigh;
Arise, and hail with glad­ness
The rul­er from on high.
Ye Chris­tians, hast­en forth!
Your praise and hom­age bring Him
And glad ho­san­nas sing Him,
Naught else your love is worth.

Arise, ye droop­ing mourn­ers!
The King is ve­ry near;
Away with grief and sor­row,
For lo! your help is here.
Behold, in ma­ny a place—
We find Him, our sal­va­tion,
O bless­ed con­so­la­tion!
In His pure means of grace.

Arise, ye much af­flict­ed!
The King is now not far;
Rejoice, ye long de­ject­ed!
Here comes the Morn­ing Star.
The Lord will give you joy;
Though trou­bles now dis­tress you,
With com­fort He will bless you,
E’en death He will de­stroy.

Now hear, ye bold tran­sgress­ors,
The King does well give heed
To all that ye are do­ing,
And to the life ye lead,
Enthralled to sin and hell;
Nothing in all cre­ation
Escapes His ob­ser­va­tion
He mark­eth all things well.

Be right­eous, ye His sub­jects,
The King is just and true;
Prepare for Him a high­way,
Make all things straight and new.
He means all for our good
Then let us bear our cross­es
That He Him­self im­pos­es,
In an un­daunt­ed mood.

Though war and con­fla­gra­tion
Take all our goods away;
The Lord is our sal­va­tion
And he­ritage for aye.
E’en though our loved ones die,
Yet they are not for­sak­en,
But from this world are tak­en
To live with God on high

Arise, ye poor and needy!
The King pro­vides for you;
He comes with suc­cor speedy,
With mer­cy ev­er new.
He who a beast did heed
Lets not His child­ren per­ish;
All hopes that man may cher­ish
He can ful­fill in­deed.

He ne­ver­more for­sak­eth
A child that feels the rod,
Who Him his re­fuge mak­eth,
And puts his trust in God.
He is our so­ver­eign king;
E’en death it­self shall ne­ver
Those from their mas­ter se­ver
Who to His mer­cy cling.

Arise, ye faint and fear­ful!
The King now comes with might,
His heart hath long since loved us,
He makes our dark­ness light.
Now are our sor­rows o’er;
No wrath shall e’er be­fall us,
Since God in grace doth call us
His child­ren ev­er­more.

Haste then, with ea­ger foot­steps,
To see your so­ver­eign there!
He rides as king of Zi­on,
Strong, glo­ri­ous, meek and fair.
Draw near the Lord and give
To Him your sa­lu­ta­tion,
Who bring­eth great sal­va­tion,
And bids the sin­ner live.

The King in grace re­mem­bers
His loved ones here be­low
With gifts of roy­al trea­sures,
Yea, doth Him­self be­stow
Through His blest Word and grace.
O King, ar­rayed in splen­dor,
To Thee all praise we’ll ren­der
Here and there face to face.

O rich the gifts Thou bring’st us,
Thyself made poor and weak;
O love be­yond ex­press­ion
That thus can sin­ners seek!
For this, O Lord, will we
Our joy­ous trib­ute bring Thee,
And glad ho­san­nas sing Thee,
And ev­er grate­ful be.