The Lord will come, the earth shall quake,

The hills their fixéd seat forsake;

And withering, from the vault of night,

The stars withdraw their feeble light.

2 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.

3 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 human kind.

4 While sinners in despair shall call,

“Rocks, hide us! mountains, on us fall!”

The saints, ascending from the tomb,

Shall joyful sing—“The Lord is come!”