The Lord will come! but not the same
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The Lord will come! but not the sameAs once in lowly form he came—A silent Lamb to slaughter led,The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.
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The Lord will come!—a dreadful form,With wreath of flame and robe of storm,On cherub wings and wings of wind,Anointed Judge of human-kind.
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Can this be He who wont to strayA pilgrim on the world's highway;By power oppressed, and mocked by pride?O God! is this the Crucified?
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Ye men of earth, to mountains call;Bid ragged rocks upon you fall;Seek, in the cavern's gloomy maze,A refuge from his piercing gaze.
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But saints who here have waited long,Now raise with joy the choral song,Lo! this is he, our coming Lord,He saves according to his word.