Lift Up, Ye Saints, Your Weeping Eyes

Lift up

ye saints

your weep­ing eyes

Suspend your sor­rows and your sighs;

Turn all your groans to joy­ful songs

Which Je­sus dic­tates to your tongues.

Thus sa­ith the Sav­ior from His throne

“Behold all for­mer things are gone

Passed like an anx­ious dream away

Chased by the gold­en beams of day.

“See in ce­les­ti­al pomp ar­rayed

A new-cre­at­ed world dis­played;

Mark with what light its pros­pects shine!

How grand

how va­ri­ous

how di­vine!

“There Mine own gen­tle hand shall dry

Each tear from each o’er­flow­ing eye

And op­en wide My friend­ly breast

To lull the wea­ry soul to rest.

No more shall grief as­sail your heart

No bod­ing fear

no pierc­ing smart;

For ev­er there My pe­ople dwell

Beyond the range of death and hell.

Vain King of Ter­rors

boast no more

Thine an­cient wide-ex­tend­ed pow’r;

Each saint in life with Christ his head

Shall reign

when thou thy­self art dead.