When will my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I

see?

Thy walls are all of precious stone, Most glorious to

behold,

Thy gates are rich-ly set with pearl, Thy streets are paved with gold.

1. The chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in

4

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fire,

As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire; Lo! self-moving it drives on the

pathway of cloud,And the heav'ns with the burden of Godhead are bow'd.

1 The chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in fire,
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire;
Lo, self-moving it drives on its pathway of cloud,
And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bow'd.

2 The glory! the glory! around him are poured, Mighty hosts of the angels that wait on the Lord; And the glorified saints, and the martyrs are there, And there all who the palm-wreaths of victory wear!

3 The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard: Lo, the depths of the stone-covered charnel are stirr'd! From the sea, from the earth, from the south, from the north,

All the vast generations of men are come forth !

4 The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,
Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met!
There all flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word.

5 O mercy! O mercy! look down from above,
Great Creator, on us, thy sad children, with love!
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our justified souls find a welcome in heaven!