On the banks where Jor­dan rolled,
Preaching pe­ni­tence and fear,
Stood the pro­phet, long fore­told,
Crying, Haste, the Lord is near!

Let the min­is­ters of grace
So pre­pare, O Lord, Thy way,
That with joy we meet Thy face
On the aw­ful judg­ment day.

In the night their cry is heard,
Lo! the Bride­groom soon shall come!
Let the bride at that glad word
Hasten to her heart’s true home.

Year by year that Ad­vent cry
Rings up­on the star­tled air;
Hasten, for the Lord is nigh;
Let your lamps be trimmed with care.

Let each ea­ger, list­en­ing ear
Catch with joy that wel­come sound:
Hasten, for the Lord is near;
Enter, where true joys are found.

Grant us, Lord, the per­fect peace
Of a mind well stayed on Thee;
Rest, where earth­ly la­bors cease;
Light, where dark­ness can­not be!