Over all created things Brooded, once, thy blessèd wings; Groans the world with grief and pain Dove divine! descend again.
The Son of man will come,-- His promise cannot fail; The royal Conqueror Shall over all prevail; And Earth shall hear his summons dread, And Death and Hell give up their dead.
Ten thousand thousand saints His coming shall attend,-- And underneath his feet The firmament shall rend; And, prostrate at his judgment throne, The world his sovereignty shall own.
O Son of Mary! hear A helpless sinner’s prayer, And, on that awful day, Make me thy gracious care; O, be my heart’s sure hope and stay When the wide heavens shall flee away.
Keep faithful watch, my soul, And pray “Thy kingdom come;” But leave it all to Him, How he shall bring thee home; The resurrection of the just Shall recompense thy patient trust.
O Saviour, whose surpassing grace Exceeds the guilt thy griefs atoned, The praises of a ransomed race Be thine, in highest heaven enthroned.
The Father’s everlasting love Thy blessed life and death declare; And still, though crowned with bliss above, Our deepest sorrows thou dost share.
O Jesus, merciful and kind, The sad and sinful seek thy breast; Our souls in thee their solace find,-- Our refuge thou, our only rest.
The goal is sure, O Guide divine! Again the stars of morning sing; All wills, all worlds, at last are thine, O Christ, Creator, Saviour, King!
Ten thousand times ten thousand,-- Their shining ranks I see! With robes of light resplendent, And palms of victory!
The crowns they wear are golden, And gemmed with jewels rare,-- Fair guerdon of the glory They with their Saviour share.
Their home--the holy city, Within whose ageless walls No shade of sin, or sickness, Or sorrow, ever falls; For _He_ is ever with them, The Lamb, their life, their light,-- The joy of all the ransomed, The saints’ supreme delight.
Dear vision of the blessèd-- How homelike heaven seems! Sweet foretaste of the rapture Exceeding all our dreams. O Jesus, Shepherd, Saviour, My guide and guardian be, And bring me, through thy favor, To dwell with them and thee.
Our life is Lent: Our years are spent In penance for the past; Our songs are sighs, Our brightest skies With clouds are overcast.