Yonder, see the Lord des­cend­ing,
Hark! His cha­ri­ot’s draw­ing near;
Starry worlds be­fore Him rend­ing,
Flaming troops do now ap­pear.
Heaven shak­ing, earth is quak­ing,
Mountains fly be­fore His face,
See the dead their graves for­sak­ing,
Nature sink­ing in a blaze.

Now be­hold the shin­ing con­quer­ors,
Rising from their dus­ty beds,
Fly to meet their bless­èd Sav­ior,
Glittering crowns up­on their heads;
Hear them tell their pleas­ing sto­ry
To their smil­ing, love­ly king,
Glory, glo­ry, glo­ry, glo­ry,
Glory is the song they sing.

Once an in­fant in a man­ger,
There the Lord of glo­ry lay;
No place for that lit­tle stran­ger
But up­on the ox­en’s hay;
Now He’s crown­èd with a rain­bow
Brighter than a sar­di­us stone;
Now He comes—the Chris­tian sees Him
Seated on His great white throne.