He Is Coming, He Is Coming

He is com­ing

He is com­ing

Not as once He came be­fore

Wailing In­fant born in weak­ness

On a low­ly sta­ble floor;

But up­on His cloud of glo­ry

In the crim­son tint­ed sky

Where we see the gold­en sun­rise

In the ro­sy dist­ance lie.

He is com­ing

He is com­ing

Not in pain

and shame

and woe

With the thorn crown on His for­ehead

And the blood drops trick­ling slow;

But with dia­dem up­on Him

And the scep­ter in His hand

And the dead all ranged be­fore Him

Raised from death

hell

sea and land.

He is com­ing

He is com­ing

Not as once He wan­dered through

All the hos­tile land of Judah

With His fol­low­ers poor and few;

But with all the ho­ly an­gels

Waiting round His judg­ment seat

And the chos­en twelve Apos­tles

Sitting crown­èd at His feet.

He is com­ing

He is com­ing

Let His low­ly first es­tate

And His ten­der love

so teach us

That in faith and hope we wait

Till in glo­ry east­ward burn­ing

Our re­demp­tion draw­eth near

And we see the sign in heav­en

Of our judge and Sav­ior dear.