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The Lord will come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixèd seat forsake;
And, withering from the vault of night,
The stars withdraw their feeble light.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form He came,
A silent Lamb to slaughter led,
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of humankind.

Can this be He once wont to stray
A pilgrim on the world’s highway,
By power oppressed, and mocked by pride
O God! is this the Crucified?

Go, tyrants, to the rocks complain!
Go, seek the mountain’s cleft in vain!
But faith, victorious o’er the tomb,
Shall sing for joy, “The Lord is come!”