Let Zion and Her Sons Rejoice

Let Zi­on and her sons re­joice

Behold the pro­mised hour;

Her God hath heard her mourn­ing voice

And comes t’ex­alt His pow­er.

Her dust and ru­ins that re­main

Are pre­cious in our eyes;

Those ru­ins shall be built again

And all that dust shall rise.

The Lord will raise Je­ru­sa­lem

And stand in glo­ry there;

Nations shall bow be­fore His name

And kings at­tend with fear.

He sits a sov­er­eign on His throne

With pi­ty in His eyes;

He hears the dy­ing pri­son­ers groan

And sees their sighs arise.

He frees the souls con­demned to death

And when His saints com­plain

It sha’n’t be said

That pray­ing breath

Was ev­er spent in vain.

This shall be known when we are dead

And left on long re­cord;

That ag­es yet un­born may read

And trust

and praise the Lord.