R UTLAND T UNE

In expectation sweet
We'll wait, and sing, and pray,
As Christ's triumphal car we meet,
And see an endless day.

He comes! he comes! behold
His presence melts the sky!
Celestial armies, clad in gold,
Around his chariot fly.

 He comes! the conqu'ror comes!
 Death falls beneath his sword;
The joyful pris'ners burst the tombs,
 And rise to meet their Lord!

 The trumpet sounds, ‘Awake!—
 ‘Ye dead, to judgment come!’
The pillars of creation shake
 While hell receives her doom.

 Thrice happy morn for those
 Who love the ways of peace;
No night of sorrow e'er shall close,
 Or shade, their perfect bliss.