Lo! from the desert homes Where he hath hid so long, The new Elias comes, In sternest wisdom strong; The voice that cries Of Christ on high, And judgment nigh From opening skies. Your God e’en now doth stand At Heaven’s opening door; His fan is in His hand, And He will purge His floor; The wheat He claims And with Him stows, The chaff He throws To quenchless flames. Ye haughty mountains, bow Your sky-aspiring heads; Ye valleys, hiding low, Lift up your gentle meads; Make His way plain Your king before, For evermore He comes to reign. May Thy dread voice around, Thou harbinger of Light, On our dull ears still sound, Lest here we sleep in night, Till judgment come, And on our path Shall burst the wrath And deathless doom. O God, with love’s sweet might, Who dost anoint and arm Christ’s soldier for the fight, With grace that shields from harm, Thrice blessèd Three Heav’n’s endless days Shall sing Thy praise Eternally. |