Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come!
Lo, Thy Church with longing eye
Lifts her blended voices high,
Not a lip is dumb.
They who sow with many a tear
In the dry and stubborn soil,
Mourning ask from out their toil—
Master, art Thou near?
Watchers of the weary night,
While they pace their lonely round,
Listen for the trumpet’s sound—
Seek the dawning light.
When shall lighten forth Thy sign
Through the heav’ns? O Lord, how long?
When, amid the radiant throng,
Shall Thy coming shine?