The Pearly Gates (Francis)

The pear­ly gates aside are rolled

The doors wide op­en stand

And Heav’n

with all its streets of gold

Its bright an­gel­ic band

Its cher­ub and its ser­aph choir

Await in blest ac­cord

With burn­ing love

and fond de­sire

The com­ing of their Lord.

He on Mount Ol­iv­et be­low

His well-be­loved among

A be­ni­son must first be­stow

Upon the saint­ly throng.

His hand is raised

the words are said

Of love

with pi­ty blent

While bowed in awe is ev­ery head

And ev­ery knee is bent.

He comes! He comes! from earth He soars!

See how the liv­ing cloud

Of an­gel wings around Him flings

Bright rays

His form to shroud—

While stead­fast­ly

with up­turned eye

The rapt Apos­tles gaze

With Ma­ry

at the deep-veiled sky

In si­lent still am­aze.

He comes! He comes! lift up your heads

Ye gates

ye por­tals bright!

Your prince re­turns! His path He treads

To meads of am­ber light.

He is the King of Glo­ry! Sing

Ye heav­ens

with loud ac­claim—

Your God

your ev­er­last­ing king.

The Lord of Hosts His name!