When the Curtains Are Lifted

When the cur­tains are lift­ed

oh

what shall I see?

Will my Lord with His an­gels be wait­ing for me?

Will He wel­come my com­ing

and crown me His own

With the saints of all ag­es

that cir­cle His throne?

When the cur­tains are lift­ed

oh what shall I see?

Will my Lord and His an­gels be wait­ing for me?

Be wait­ing

be wait­ing

Will my Lord and His an­gels be wait­ing for me?

Will the heav­en­ly ci­ty burst full on my sight?

And the throne of His glo­ry that giv­eth it light?

Will the feet torn and wea­ry reach pave­ments of gold?

And the eyes red with weep­ing the Sav­ior be­hold?

Now the fu­ture is hid­den

I see but a pace

Yet it may be I’m near­ing the end of the race;

It will mat­ter but lit­tle what chang­es may come

If my Lord with His an­gels shall wel­come me home.

When His glo­ri­fied pre­sence shall glad­den my eyes

I’ll be changed and be like Him

and with Him arise;

And the hands hard with la­bor a vic­tor’s palm raise;

And the lips tuned to sor­row sing an­thems of praise.

When the cur­tains are lift­ed

oh

this shall I see

That my Lord and His an­gels are wait­ing for me

Are wait­ing

are wait­ing

That my Lord and His an­gels are wait­ing for me!