How long, dear Savior, oh how long,
Shall that bright hour delay?
Fly swiftly round ye wheels of time,
And bring the promised day.
From the third heav’n, where God resides,
That holy, happy place,
The new Jerusalem comes down,
Adorned with shining grace.
Lo, what a glorious sight appears
To our believing eyes;
The earth and sea are pass’d away
And the old rolling skies!
Attending angels shout for joy,
And the bright armies sing,
“Mortals, behold the sacred seat
Of your descending King.”
His own soft hand shall wipe the tears
From every weeping eye
And pains and groans and griefs and fears
And death itself shall die.