Light of the Gen­tile na­tions,
Thy peo­ple’s joy and love,
Drawn by Thy Spir­it hi­ther,
We glad­ly come to prove
Thy pre­sence in Thy tem­ple,
And wait with ear­nest mind,
As Si­me­on once had wait­ed
His Sav­ior God to find.

Yes, Lord, Thy ser­vants meet Thee,
E’en now, in ev­ery place,
Where Thy true Word hath pro­mised
That they should see Thy face.
Thou yet wilt gent­ly grant us,
Who ga­ther round Thee here,
In faith’s strong arms to bear Thee,
As once that ag­èd seer.

Be Thou our joy, our bright­ness,
That shines ’mid pain and loss,
Our sun in times of ter­ror,
The glo­ry round our cross;
A glow in sink­ing spir­its,
A sun­beam in dis­tress,
Physician, friend in sick­ness;
In death our hap­pi­ness.

Let us, O Lord, be faith­ful
With Si­me­on to the end,
That so his dy­ing song may
From all our hearts as­cend;
O Lord, now let Thy ser­vant
Depart in peace for aye,
Since I have seen my Sav­ior,
Have here be­held His day.

My Sav­ior, I behold Thee
Now with the eye of faith;
No foe of Thee can rob me,
Though bit­ter words he saith;
Within Thy heart abid­ing,
As Thou dost dwell in me,
No pain, no death has ter­rors
To part my soul from Thee!