Long up­on the mount­ains wea­ry,
Have the scat­tered flock been torn;
Dark the de­sert paths, and drea­ry;
Grievous tri­als have they borne.
Now the ga­ther­ing call is sound­ing,
Solemn in its warn­ing voice;
Union, faith, and love, abound­ing,
Bid the lit­tle flock re­joice.

Now the light of truth they’re seek­ing,
In its on­ward track pur­sue;
All the ten com­mand­ments keep­ing,
They are ho­ly, just and true.
On the words of life they’re feed­ing,
Precious to their taste so sweet;
All their Mas­ter’s pre­cepts heed­ing,
Bowing hum­bly at His feet.

In that light of light and beau­ty,
In that gold­en ci­ty fair,
Soon its pear­ly gates they’ll en­ter,
And of all its glo­ries share.
There, di­vine the soul’s ex­pan­sions;
Free from sin, and death, and pain;
Tears will ne­ver dim those man­sions
Where the saints im­mor­tal reign.

Soon He comes! with clouds des­cend­ing;
All His saints, en­tombed arise;
The re­deemed, in an­thems blend­ing,
Shout their vic­tory thro’ the skies.
O, we long for Thine ap­pearing;
Come, O Sav­ior, quick­ly come!
Blessèd hope! our spi­rits cheer­ing,
Take Thy ran­somed child­ren home.