O Savior, Awful Was the Word

O Sav­ior

aw­ful was the word

In Pat­mos’ is­land lone

By Him in ho­ly vi­sion heard

Thy own be­lov­èd John.

Behold! I come

I come with speed:

With Me is My re­ward;

And then of ev­ery man the meed

Shall with his work ac­cord.

Come then

from ev­ery faith­ful breast

The Ho­ly Spir­it cries;

And Come! in spot­less rai­ment dressed

The Church

Thy bride

re­plies.

O blest are they

whose bo­soms share

The Spir­it’s gifts se­rene:

Blest who the brid­al gar­ment wear

That ves­ture white and clean.

Blest

who in Thy com­mun­ion erst

Have loved

O Christ

to dwell;

Have free­ly drunk and slaked their thirst

From Thy en­liv­en­ing well.

And when at length Thy warn­ings show

At hand the hour of doom

Can meek­ly an­swer

Ev­en so

Yea come

Lord Je­sus

come!