Lo! The de­sert depths are stir­rèd,
And the reeds of Jor­dan qui­ver;
At the Bap­tist’s her­ald word,
Shake the shores of that old riv­er.

Nearer comes the Preach­er’s cry,
Deeper sounds his voice and deep­er,
Telling that the Christ is nigh,
In a tone to rouse the sleep­er.

By their mak­er’s com­ing feet
Moved, the earth, the air, the ocean
Joyously His ad­vent greet,
With a strange­ly yearn­ing mo­tion.

Cleanse the heart—a high­way strew
For the God­head hi­ther far­ing;
Cleanse the home—a dwell­ing, due
To the migh­ty Guest, pre­par­ing.

Jesu, Thou our so­lace art,
Thou our strength and our sal­va­tion;
Withered grass, from Thee apart,
Fades away man’s fee­ble na­tion.

Lift the lost, with hand of health,
Whom the plague is fast con­sum­ing;
Lift the veil—in all its wealth,
Lo! the beau­te­ous world is bloom­ing.

Thou, who com­est man to free,
Son, be Thine all praise for ev­er;
Thine with Sire and Spir­it be
Laud through ag­es end­ing nev­er.