It draw­eth near!
That day—of days the day—
For which the Bride­groom waits,
For which the vir­gins pray;
For which earth sighs, and hastes
To greet it on its way;
Asking, as on it comes,
Why this so long de­lay?
It draw­eth near at last!
Who shall its ad­vent stay?

It hastes to rise!
That sun—of suns the sun—
Whose ris­ing is the pledge
Of ev­il all un­done,
Of dark­ness at an end,
And heav’n­ly day begun;
The war of ag­es o’er,
And the last bat­tle won.
It hast­eth to arise,
Its glo­ri­ous race to run.

It breathes o’er earth!
That balm-ex­hal­ing air,
In Heav’n’s own od­ors steeped,
To our sick world to bear
The health of that pure realm:
No sick­ness, pain, and where
True life has its abode,
And in which all things rare
Flourish, but ne­ver fade,
Divinely soft and fair.

It swell­eth forth!
That song—of songs the song—
Creation’s me­lo­dy,
From harps till now un­strung,
The new, sweet, ma­tin hymn,
As yet on earth un­sung,
Poured in rich burst of praise
From eve­ry heart and tongue;
The an­them of a world
Redeemed from woe and wrong.

Behold, He comes!
And with Him comes the love
Which makes these wastes be­low
Like heav’n of heav’ns above;
When round His cen­tral throne
Shall all cre­ation move;
No at­om out of place,
No will to swerve or rove;
Swayed by the si­lent breath.
Of the eter­nal Dove.

He comes in pow­er!
The King—of kings the King—
All right­eous­ness and peace
In His right hand to bring;
Into the last abyss
Each re­bel crown to fling;
Time’s ag­es of mis­rule
To end; that now may spring
His or­der, law and light
Beneath His ho­ly wing.

He comes in pomp!
The ho­ly pomp of Heav’n,
When sin is at its height,
And earth is all un­shriv’n.
Scorched by no hu­man fire,
No cloud-begotten lev­in,
His band­ed foes fall back,
Before His fu­ry driv’n.
The na­tions of the world
Into His hand are giv’n.

He comes in light!
Girt with His gold­en zone,
Arrayed in heav’n­ly white,
With light His path­way strewn.
Like a long ab­sent prince
Returning to his throne;
No more dis­owned, un­loved,
No more un­praised, un­known;
He comes to share His light
And glo­ry with His own.

He speaks at last
The word—of words the word:
Lo, I make all things new!
And now with sweet ac­cord
The heav’ns and earth ob­ey;
The uni­verse is stirred
When, from the throne of thrones,
The po­tent voice is heard,
Old things now pass away,
And Eden is re­stored.

The foe is bound
With the un­break­ing chain;
The spoil­er now is spoiled,
No more o’er earth to reign;
Purged is cre­ation now
From the prim­ev­al stain
Of the old ser­pent’s trail.
Never to rise again,
The prince of ev­il falls,
Slain with the migh­ty slain.

Death’s reign is done!
The grave gives up its dead;
The bless­èd sleep­ers wake,
One with their bless­èd Head.
Life tri­umphs over death,
The en­emy has fled;
The ty­rant of the tomb
Is now a cap­tive led,
Upon his head at last
His slaugh­ters vi­sit­ed.

The curse is gone!
The bless­ing comes in­stead;
And now, where’er we go,
On hal­lowed ground we tread.
The ca­no­py of love
Is stretched above our head;
The soil, no long­er cursed,
Is like a gar­den spread;
The wil­der­ness re-blooms
With ver­dure ov­er­laid.

All strife is o’er!
Ended the world’s rude jar;
And uni­ver­sal peace
Succeeds the age of war.
Man’s pride, and rage, and hate,
Have gone and left no scar;
Of all that laid earth waste,
Nothing re­mains to mar
The mel­low calm that rests
On all things near and far.

No sor­row comes!
All tears are wiped away;
No shade of wea­ri­ness
On eye or brow can stay.
Sweet song of each new morn,
The same as yes­ter­day.
Faith’s fu­ture wears no frown,
And hope knows no de­lay;
No cloud of un­be­lief
Absorbs one hea­ven­ly ray.

New heav’n and earth,
In ho­ly beau­ty bright,
Arise and shine, like morn
When ends the cloud­ed night.
New heav’n, and earth, and sea,
Free from all stain and blight,
Spread out their spark­ling robes,
Their rai­ment clean and white—
O re­gion of the pure,
Land of un­known de­light!

Zion awakes,
Jerusalem puts on
Her beau­ty and her strength;
True ci­ty of the Sun,
Thy light, thy light is come;
Ascend thy shin­ing throne!
Thy war­fare now is o’er,
Thy en­emies o’er­thrown;
Wave, wave thy palm on high,
Thy vic­to­ry is won.

City of peace!
In brid­al beau­ty clad,
Thy day of mourn­ing done,
No more thy voice is sad.
Thy King is in thee now;
He who in an­ger bade
Thy foes ex­ult o’er thee;
He who in ven­geance had
Sent fire in­to thy towers,
Has come to make thee glad.

O plea­sant land!
Land of the migh­ty, too.
No cloud re­mains to dim
Thy sky of stain­less blue.
No li­on shall be there,
Nor beast of prey pass through;
Thy fields, and vales, and streams,
How ex­cel­lent to view!
Upon thy thou­sand hills
Glistens the ho­ly dew.

The storm is spent!
Faint breath­ing in­to balm;
The Mas­ter’s Peace, be still!
Has wrought the bless­èd calm.
And now the breeze of Heav’n
Sighs soft through each fair palm;
The voice of right­eous men
Swells out in each glad psalm,
Praise to the Son of God,
Praise to the great I AM.

The sword is sheathed!
The spear is flung aside;
The ga­thered hosts dis­band,
And scat­ter far and wide.
Man’s blood no long­er stains
The ri­ver’s crys­tal tide;
The sky no long­er rings
With shouts of hu­man pride.
’Tis uni­ver­sal peace,
Each note of war has died.

Jehovah reigns!
And now the na­tions praise;
The Christ of God is King;
In right­eous­ness He sways,
O’er all the hap­py world,
The scep­ter of His grace;
The king­doms all are His,
His strength the earth up­stays;
His glo­ry fills the heav’ns,
His word the world ob­eys.

Jerusalem,
City of sun and gold,
The dwell­ing of the saints,
Descendeth, as fore­told,
In words of liv­ing fire,
By He­brew seers of old;
Of the one flock of God,
The ev­er­last­ing fold;
Earth’s tribes walk in its light
And glo­ry ma­ni­fold.

The ci­ty shines
In splen­dor from afar,
In bright round fir­ma­ment,
Like new­ly burn­ished star.
Eternal love with­in;
No din, nor strife, nor jar:
For all of ev­ery clime
Its pear­ly gates un­bar;
Peace walks its gold­en streets,
Fled ev­ery sound of war!

No sun by day!
By night no moon they need;
Jehovah is their light,
From mist and dark­ness freed.
The Lamb up­on the throne
Is all the light they need;
He to the wells of life
Daily His own doth lead;
And on His pas­tures green
Sweetly His own doth feed.

Clear flows the stream
From the su­per­nal throne;
Stream of eter­ni­ty,
All heav’n­ly streams in one;
Whose wa­ters car­ry life
And fresh­ness all their own,
With im­mor­ta­li­ty
And glad­ness now un­known.
Upon its banks are heard
The songs of joy alone.

Blessèd are they
Who to the great re­past,
The sup­per of the Lamb,
Are called, that they may taste
The heav’n­ly vi­ands there;
Who at that ta­ble rest,
Drinking in all its love,
Reclining on the breast
Of Him who is Him­self
The Mas­ter and the feast.

No night is there!
No sha­dow ev­er falls
Upon thy gold­en streets,
Or stains thy jas­per walls.
No watch­man on thy tow­ers
The mid­night warn­ing calls;
No plun­d’rer of the dark
The star­tled ear ap­palls.
’Tis end­less fes­ti­val
Within thy prince­ly halls.

Thy ci­ti­zens
No com­ing sun­set dread;
Above them mild­est light
Of soft­est sky is spread,
No more by wast­ing storms
To be re­vi­sit­ed.
Nor age nor siege they fear;
All en­emies have fled.
The glo­ry now re­turns
To rest above thy head.

The tree of life
Yieldeth its end­less store;
Twelve har­vests year by year.
The palm and sy­ca­more,
The ol­ive of the hills,
Old Ju­dah’s tree of yore,
No beau­ty had like this,
Nor such abun­dance bore;
Its ve­ry leaves are life
And health for ev­er­more.

The Cross has won!
The Ga­li­le­an now
Has con­quered in the fight
For us He smote the foe,
For us He led the war,
And laid the strong one low.
His blood hath washed the earth,
And purged all things be­low;
Earth’s glo­ry now is His;
Its crown is on His brow.

The song goes up!
From ev­ery breath­ing thing
Upon the ho­ly soil
From which th’old ser­pent’s sting
Has been for ev­er plucked;
Streams, hills, and for­ests bring,
In sweet­ly swell­ing strains,
Their hap­py of­fer­ing;
And prais­es ev­ery­where
Ascend to earth’s one King.

Glory to God!
Glory to Christ the Lord;
Glory in earth and Heav’n,
Glory with one ac­cord;
To Him who earth up­holds
By His al­migh­ty word;
To Him by whom all things
Have been at last re­stored
His is the name of names,
In Heav’n and earth adored.

Thrice-hap­py earth!
Once guil­ty, now for­giv’n;
From which has been ex­pelled
The all-de­fil­ing leav’n.
Oh what a day is thine,
The bright­est of the sev’n!
The day of days, ere long
To be in mer­cy giv’n,
When Heav’n shall be on earth,
And earth shall all be Heav’n.

Thrice-hap­py earth!
All per­fect, beau­te­ous fair;
Which of the orbs above
May once with thee com­pare?
Gem of the uni­verse!
The seat of beau­ty rare;
Dear home of love and truth,
Of all things per­fect, where
Reigneth the right­eous King,
Creation’s Lord and Heir.

Thrice-hap­py earth!
Henceforth the first and best
Of han­di­works di­vine;
Once ru­ined and un­blest;
Now washed and beau­ti­fied,
The place of God’s own rest
Throughout eter­nal age,
In splen­dor ma­ni­fest,
As the one blood-bought orb,
The is­land of the blest.

Great mys­te­ry!
Among the orbs that are
Sparkling above in light;
Of all, both near and far,
The bright­est and the best:
Once seat of woe and jar,
The least and lone­li­est;
Now with no sin to mar,
It rolls in new-born glow,
The one re­deem­èd star.

Thy fel­lows shine,
Each in his own clear light;
But not like thine their glow,
So ex­qui­site­ly bright;
On which has ne­ver shone
A love so in­fi­nite
As that which thou hast found—
The love which wash­es white
Sin’s stain, and in­to day
Turns dark, pro­found­est night.

Upon their soil
No cross has ev­er stood.
They have no Beth­le­hem,
And no in­car­nate God.
They have no Gol­go­tha,
And no all-purg­ing blood;
No lamb of sac­ri­fice,
No cleans­ing lav­er-flood;
No priest­ly word of peace
That makes all ev­il good.

’Tis not their soil
(Though with all beau­ty stored,
And spark­ling fair and bright,
As all with one ac­cord
They speak their Mak­er’s praise),
Of which th’eter­nal Word
Took part, where blood di­vine
Was spilt, love free­ly poured.
They can­not claim to be
Of kin­dred with their Lord.

They can­not say,
’Twas here He lived and died,
And here up­on this tree
For us was cru­ci­fied.
This earth of ours alone,
Of all the orbs be­side,
The mill­ion orbs of space,
Can claim to be al­lied
To God­head; and to Heav’n
So firm­ly, sweet­ly tied.

Their his­to­ry,
Great though per­chance it be,
And full of mi­ra­cle—
The won­drous his­to­ry
Of more stu­pen­dous orbs
Sweeping in ma­jes­ty
Round wid­er, stran­ger depths
Of vast in­fi­ni­ty—
Is not like ours, so fraught
With heav’n­ly mys­te­ry.

This earth­ly orb
Is dull, and poor, and small;
Thick clouds en­gir­dle it
Like a fu­ne­re­al pall.
It wheels through nar­row space
An ob­scure si­lent ball;
And to a thou­sand suns
Is debt­or still for all
The dai­ly, night­ly lights
That gent­ly on it fall.

Yet to this globe
All God­head has come down;
Here is the link di­vine
That knits the up­per throne
To crea­ture­hood be­low,
Never to be un­done!
This world, long wan­der­ing
Without a star or sun,
That seemed for ev­er lost,
Is now for ev­er won.

For ev­er won!
Plucked from the pow­er of sin,
And made all ho­li­ness.
Now with the sons of men
God’s tents for ev­er pitched!
No sha­dow of a stain;
On all Cre­ation’s round!
The old de­stroy­er slain;
And now at last be­gun
The pure and ho­ly reign.

The reign of right
Supplants the sway of wrong;
The reign of pro­mised peace
To earth has come: the long,
Long era of the blest!
With now un­loos­èd tongue
The na­tions ut­ter praise;
Earth’s brok­en harp is strung,
Creation now is glad,
And sings its an­cient song.

Earth is all new!
A beau­ty now is giv’n
Greater than what it lost;
Its fet­ters all are riv’n;
Creation is set free,
And the dark spoil­er driv’n
From his usurp­èd seat;
The foul, cor­rupt­ing leav’n
Of ev­il is purged out,
And earth is one with Heav’n.

Most ho­ly place!
O beau­ty ev­er fair;
O fields that ne­ver fade,
O rich and bal­my air;
O home for ev­er freed
From wea­ri­ness and care;
O halls in which the robes
Of fes­ti­val they wear!
No dread of com­ing change
Disturbs the glad­ness there.

New heav’ns, new earth!
Knit sweet­ly into one,
No more to se­pa­rate:
The an­cient curse is gone;
With no sad seed of death
Thy purg­èd soil is sown;
Thy seas no tem­pests know,
Thy skies no cloud­ed sun;
God’s pur­pose is ful­filled,
The age of ev­il done!