Bride of the Lamb! awake, awake!
Why sleep for sor­row now?
The hope of glo­ry, Christ, is thine,
A child of glo­ry thou.

Thy Spir­it through the lone­ly night,
From earth­ly joy apart,
Hath sighed for One that’s far away—
The Bride­groom of thy heart.

But see, the night is wan­ing fast,
The break­ing morn is near,
And Je­sus comes, with voice of love,
Thy droop­ing heart to cheer.

He comes—for O His yearn­ing heart
No more can bear de­lay,
To scenes of full un­ming­led joy
To call His bride away.

This earth, the scene of all His woe,
A home­less wild to thee,
Full soon up­on His heav’n­ly throne
Its right­ful king shall see.

Thou, too, shalt reign—He will not wear
His crown of joy alone,
And earth His roy­al bride shall see
Beside Him on His throne.

Then weep no more, ’tis all thine own
His crown, His joy di­vine;
And, swee­ter far than all be­side,
He, He Him­self is thine.