Behold, the Son of God ap­pears,
And in His flesh our sins He bears;
The Vic­tim at God’s al­tar stood
To ex­pi­ate guilt by groans and blood.

But lo, a se­cond time He comes
To shake the earth, and rend the tombs;
These heav’ns be­fore Him melt away,
And suns and stars in smoke de­cay.

Yet, midst this ge­ne­ral wreck and dread,
Ye saints, with tri­umph lift the head:
With glad sur­prise your Sav­ior meet,
Who comes to make your bliss com­plete.

My soul, a hap­pi­ness so great,
With pleas­ing ex­pec­ta­tion wait;
And while I dwell up­on the thought,
Be earth and all its toys for­got.

My Sav­ior God, what grace is Thine,
Which gives a pros­pect so di­vine!
Come, bless­èd day, and teach our tongues
How an­gels war­ble out their songs.