The Lord said unto my Lord, Psalm 110:1
Sit Thou at My right hand, until I make Thine enemies Thy footstool.
Exert Thy power, Thy rights maintain,
Insulted, everlasting King!
The influence of Thy crown increase,
And strangers to Thy footstool bring.
We long to see that happy time,
That dear, expected, blissful day,
When countless myriads of our race
The second Adam shall obey.
Thy prophecies must be fulfilled,
Though earth and hell should dare oppose;
The stone cut from the mountain’s side,
Tho’ unobserved, to empire grows.
Soon shall the mingled image fall,
Brass, silver, iron, gold and clay,
And superstition’s gloomy reign
To light and liberty give way.
In one sweet symphony of praise,
Gentile and Jew shall then unite;
And infidelity, ashamed,
Sink in th’abyss of endless night.
Afric’s emancipated sons
Shall join, with Europe’s polished race,
To celebrate, in different tongues,
The glories of redeeming grace.
From east to west, from north to south,
Immanuel’s kingdom shall extend;
And every man, in every face,
Shall meet a brother, and a friend.