Jesus, Thy Church With Longing Eyes

Jesus, Thy church with long­ing eyes
For Thine ex­pect­ed com­ing waits:
When will the pro­mised Light arise,
And glo­ry beam from Zi­on’s gates?

E’en now, when tem­pests round us fall,
And win­try clouds o’er­cast the sky,
Thy words with plea­sure we recall,
And deem that our re­demp­tion’s nigh.

Come, gra­cious Lord, our hearts re­new,
Our foes re­pel, our wrongs re­dress,
Man’s root­ed en­mi­ty sub­due,
And crown Thy Gos­pel with suc­cess.

O come, and reign o’er ev­ery land;
Let Sa­tan from his throne be hurled;
Let na­tions bow to Thy com­mand,
And grace re­vive a dy­ing world.

Yes, Thou wilt speed­ily ap­pear;
The smit­ten earth al­rea­dy reels;
And not far off we seem to hear
The thun­der of Thy cha­ri­ot wheels.

Teach us, in watch­ful­ness and pray­er,
To wait for the ap­point­ed hour,
And fit us for Thy grace to share
The tri­umph of Thy con­quer­ing pow­er.

Words: William H. Bathurst, 1831.