Lord, Thy ran­somed Church is wak­ing
Out of slum­ber far and near,
Knowing that the morn is break­ing
When the Bride­groom will ap­pear;
Waking up to claim the trea­sure
With Thy pre­cious life-blood bought,
And to trust in full­er mea­sure
All Thy won­drous death hath wrought.

Praise to Thee for this glad show­er,
Precious drops of lat­ter rain;
Praise, that by Thy Spir­it’s pow­er
Thou hast quick­ened us again;
That Thy Gos­pel’s price­less trea­sure
Now is borne from land to land,
And that all the Fa­ther’s plea­sure
Prospers in Thy pierc­èd hand.

Praise to Thee for saved ones yearn­ing
O’er the lost and wan­der­ing throng;
Praise for voic­es dai­ly learn­ing
To up­raise the glad new song;
Praise to Thee for sick ones hast­ing
Now to touch Thy gar­ment’s hem;
Praise for souls be­liev­ing—tast­ing
All Thy love has won for them.

Set on fire our heart’s de­vo­tion
With the love of Thy dear name;
Till o’er ev­ery land and ocean
Lips and lives Thy cross pro­claim.
Fix our eyes on Thy re­turn­ing,
Keeping watch till Thou shalt come,
Loins well girt, lamps bright­ly burning,
Then, Lord, take Thy servants home.