Look up, ye saints, with sweet sur­prise,
Toward the joy­ful com­ing day,
When Je­sus shall des­cend the skies,
And form a bright and daz­zling ray.

Nations shall in a day be born,
And swift, like doves, to Je­sus fly,
The church shall know no clouds re­turn,
No sor­rows mixing with their joy.

The li­on and the lamb shall feed
Together in His peace­ful reign;
And Zion, blest with heav’n­ly bread,
Of pinch­ing wants no more com­plain.

The Jew, the Greek, the bond, the free,
Shall boast their se­pa­rate rights no more;
But join in sweet­est har­mo­ny,
Their Lord, their Sav­ior to ad­ore.

Thus, ’till a thou­sand years be past,
Shall ho­li­ness and peace pre­vail;
And ev­ery knee shall bow to Christ,
And ev­ery tongue shall Je­sus hail.

Then the re­deemed shall mount on high,
Where their de­li­ver­ing Prince is gone;
And an­gels at His word shall fly,
To bless them with the con­quer­or’s crown.