Let Sion and her sons rejoice,
Behold the promised hour;
Her God hath heard her mourning voice,
And comes t�exalt His power.
Her dust and ruins that remain
Are precious in our eyes;
Those ruins shall be built again,
And all that dust shall rise.
The Lord will raise Jerusalem
And stand in glory there;
Nations shall bow before His Name,
And kings attend with fear.
He sits a sovereign on His throne,
With pity in His eyes;
He hears the dying prisoners groan,
And sees their sighs arise.
He frees the souls condemned to death,
And when His saints complain,
It sha�n�t be said, �That praying breath
Was ever spent in vain.�
This shall be known when we are dead,
And left on long record;
That ages yet unborn may read,
And trust, and praise the Lord.
