O Savior, awful was the word,
In Patmos’ island lone,
By Him in holy vision heard,
Thy own belovèd John.
Behold! I come, I come with speed:
With Me is My reward;
And then of every man the meed
Shall with his work accord.
Come then, from every faithful breast
The Holy Spirit cries;
Come! in spotless raiment dressed,
The Church, Thy bride, replies.
O blest are they, whose bosoms share
The Spirit’s gifts serene:
Blest who the bridal garment wear,
That vesture white and clean.
Blest, who in Thy communion erst
Have loved, O Christ, to dwell;
Have freely drunk and slaked their thirst
From Thy enlivening well.
And when at length Thy warnings show
At hand the hour of doom,
Can meekly answer,
Yea come, Lord Jesus, come!