The pearly gates aside are rolled,
The doors wide open stand,
And Heav’n, with all its streets of gold,
Its bright angelic band,
Its cherub and its seraph choir,
Await in blest accord,
With burning love, and fond desire,
The coming of their Lord.
He on Mount Olivet below,
His well-beloved among,
A benison must first bestow
Upon the saintly throng.
His hand is raised, the words are said
Of love, with pity blent,
While bowed in awe is every head,
And every knee is bent.
He comes! He comes! from earth He soars!
See how the living cloud
Of angel wings around Him flings,
Bright rays, His form to shroud—
While steadfastly, with upturned eye,
The rapt Apostles gaze
With Mary, at the deep-veiled sky,
In silent still amaze.
He comes! He comes! lift up your heads,
Ye gates, ye portals bright!
Your prince returns! His path He treads
To meads of amber light.
He is the King of Glory! Sing,
Ye heavens, with loud acclaim—
Your God, your everlasting king.
The Lord of Hosts His name!