See, the con­quer­or mounts in triumph;
See the King in roy­al state,
Riding on the clouds, His cha­ri­ot,
To His heav’n­ly pa­lace gate.
Hark! the choirs of an­gel voices
Joyful hal­le­lu­jahs sing,
And the por­tals high are lift­ed
To receive their heav’n­ly king.

Who is this that comes in glo­ry,
With the trump of ju­bi­lee?
Lord of bat­tles, God of ar­mies,
He has gained the vic­to­ry.
He who on the cross did suf­fer,
He who from the grave arose,
He has van­quished sin and Sa­tan,
He by death has spoiled His foes.

While He raised His hands in bless­ing,
He was part­ed from His friends;
While their ea­ger eyes be­hold Him,
He up­on the clouds as­cends;
He who walked with God and pleased Him,
Preaching truth and doom to come,
He, our En­och, is trans­lat­ed
To His ev­er­last­ing home.

Now our heav’n­ly Aar­on en­ters,
With His blood, with­in the veil;
Joshua now is come to Ca­naan,
And the kings be­fore Him quail;
Now He plants the tribes of Is­ra­el
In their pro­mised rest­ing place;
Now our great Eli­jah of­fers
Double por­tion of His grace.

Thou hast raised our hu­man na­ture
In the clouds to God’s right hand;
There we sit in heav’n­ly plac­es,
There with Thee in glo­ry stand;
Jesus reigns, ad­ored by an­gels;
Man with God is on the throne;
Mighty Lord, in Thine as­cen­sion
We by faith be­hold our own.

Holy Ghost, il­lu­mi­nat­or,
Shed Thy beams up­on our eyes,
Help us to look up with Ste­phen,
And to see be­yond the skies,
Where the Son of Man in glo­ry
Standing is at God’s right hand,
Beckoning on His mar­tyr ar­my,
Succoring His faith­ful band.

See Him, who is gone be­fore us,
Heav’nly man­sions to pre­pare,
See Him, who is ev­er plead­ing
For us with pre­vail­ing pray­er;
See Him, who with sound of trum­pet
And with His an­gel­ic train,
Summoning the world to judg­ment,
On the clouds will come again.

Lift us up from earth to Hea­ven;
Give us wings of faith and love,
Gales of ho­ly as­pi­ra­tions
Wafting us to realms above;
That, with hearts and minds up­lift­ed
We with Christ our Lord may dwell,
Where He sits en­throned in glo­ry
In His heav’n­ly ci­ta­del.

So at last, when He ap­pear­eth,
We from out our graves may spring,
With our youth re­newed like ea­gles,
Flocking round our heav’n­ly king,
Caught up on the clouds of Hea­ven,
And may meet Him in the air,
Rise to realms where He is reign­ing,
And may reign for ev­er there.

Glory be to God the Fa­ther,
Glory be to God the Son,
Dying, ris’n, as­cend­ing for us,
Who the heav’n­ly realm has won;
Glory to the Ho­ly Spir­it,
To one God in pers­ons Three;
Glory both in earth and Hea­ven,
Glory, end­less glo­ry, be!