1 The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form he came
A silent Lamb to slaughter led,
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

2 The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame and robe of storm,
On cherub wings and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human-kind.

3 Can this be He who went to stray
A pilgrim on the world's highway;
By power oppressed, and mocked by pride?
O God! is this the Crucified?

4 Ye men of earth, to mountains call;
Bid ragged rocks upon you fall;
Seek, in the cavern's gloomy maze,
A refuge from this piercing gaze.

5 But saints who here have waited long,
Now raise with joy the choral song,
Lo! this is he, our coming Lord,
He saves according to his word.