Hark, the glad sound! The Sav­ior comes,
The Sav­ior pro­mised long!
Let ev­ery heart pre­pare a throne,
And ev­ery voice a song.

On Him the Spir­it, large­ly poured,
Exerts its sac­red fire;
Wisdom and might, and zeal and love,
His ho­ly breast in­spire.

He comes the pri­son­ers to re­lease,
In Sa­tan’s bond­age held;
The gates of brass be­fore Him burst,
The ir­on fet­ters yield.

He comes from thick­est films of vice
To clear the men­tal ray,
And on the eye-balls of the blind
To pour ce­les­ti­al day. *

He comes the brok­en heart to bind,
The bleed­ing soul to cure;
And with the trea­sures of His grace
To en­rich the hum­ble poor.

His sil­ver trum­pets publ­ish loud
The ju­bi­lee of the Lord
Our debts are all re­mit­ted now,
Our he­rit­age re­stored.

Our glad ho­san­nas, Prince of Peace,
Thy wel­come shall pro­claim;
And Hea­ven’s ete­rnal arch­es ring
With Thy be­lov­èd name.