For My sake, and the Gos­pel’s, go
And tell re­demp­tion’s sto­ry;
His her­alds an­swer, Be it so,
And Thine, Lord, all the glo­ry!
They preach His birth, His life, His cross,
The love of His atone­ment,
For whom they count the world but loss,
His East­er, His en­throne­ment.

Hark, hark, the trump of ju­bi­lee
Proclaims to ev­ery na­tion,
From pole to pole, by land and sea,
Glad tid­ings of sal­va­tion;
As near­er draws the day of doom,
While still the bat­tle rages,
The heav’n­ly day­spring through the gloom
Breaks on the night of ag­es.

Still on and on the an­thems spread
Of al­le­lu­ia voic­es,
In con­cert with the ho­ly dead
The war­ri­or Church re­joic­es;
Their snow white robes are washed in blood,
Their gold­en harps are ring­ing;
Earth and the pa­ra­dise of God
One tri­umph song are sing­ing.

He comes, whose ad­vent trum­pet drowns
The last of time’s ev­an­gels,
Emmanuel crowned with ma­ny crowns,
The Lord of saints and an­gels;
O Life, Light, Love, the great I AM,
Triune, who chang­est ne­ver,
The throne of God and of the Lamb
Is Thine, and Thine for­ev­er.