Lo! what a glo­ri­ous sight ap­pears
To our be­liev­ing eyes!
The earth and sea are passed away,
And the old roll­ing skies.

From the third heav’n, where God re­sides,
That ho­ly, hap­py place,
The new Je­ru­sa­lem comes down,
Adorned with shin­ing grace.

Attending an­gels shout for joy,
And the bright ar­mies sing—
“Mortals, be­hold the sac­red seat
Of your des­cend­ing king.

“The God of glo­ry down to men
Removes His blest abode;
Men, the dear ob­jects of His grace,
And He the lov­ing God.

His own soft hand shall wipe the tears
From every weep­ing eye,
And pains, and groans, and griefs, and fears,
And death itself, shall die.

How long, dear Sav­ior! O how long
Shall this bright hour de­lay?
Fly swift­er round, ye wheels of time,
And bring the wel­come day.