Savior, come, Thy friends are wait­ing,
Waiting for the fi­nal day:
Thence the pro­mised glo­ry dat­ing;
Come and bear Thy saints away.
Come, Lord Je­sus,
Thus Thy wait­ing people pray.

Base the wish, and vain th’en­dea­vor,
While on earth to find our rest:
’Till we see Thy face, we ne­ver
Shall or can be ful­ly blest;
In Thy pre­sence
Nothing shall our peace mo­lest.

Lord, we wait for Thine ap­pear­ing:
Tarry not, Thy peo­ple say;
Bright the pros­pect is, and cheer­ing,
Of be­hold­ing Thee that day;
When our sor­rows
Shall for ev­er pass away.

’Till it comes, O keep us stea­dy,
Keep us walk­ing in Thy ways;
At Thy call may we be rea­dy,
And our heads with tri­umph raise:
Then with an­gels
Sing Thine ev­er­last­ing praise.