Lord, Thy Ransomed Church Is Waking

Lord

Thy ran­somed Church is wak­ing

Out of slum­ber far and near

Knowing that the morn is break­ing

When the Bride­groom will ap­pear;

Waking up to claim the trea­sure

With Thy pre­cious life-blood bought

And to trust in full­er mea­sure

All Thy won­drous death hath wrought.

Praise to Thee for this glad show­er

Precious drops of lat­ter rain;

Praise

that by Thy Spir­it’s pow­er

Thou hast quick­ened us again;

That Thy Gos­pel’s price­less trea­sure

Now is borne from land to land

And that all the Fa­ther’s plea­sure

Prospers in Thy pierc­èd hand.

Praise to Thee for saved ones yearn­ing

O’er the lost and wan­der­ing throng;

Praise for voic­es dai­ly learn­ing

To up­raise the glad new song;

Praise to Thee for sick ones hast­ing

Now to touch Thy gar­ment’s hem;

Praise for souls be­liev­ing—tast­ing

All Thy love has won for them.

Set on fire our heart’s de­vo­tion

With the love of Thy dear name;

Till o’er ev­ery land and ocean

Lips and lives Thy cross pro­claim.

Fix our eyes on Thy re­turn­ing

Keeping watch till Thou shalt come

Loins well girt

lamps bright­ly burn­ing

Then

Lord

take Thy serv­ants home.