Mark That Pilgrim

Mark that pil­grim—low­ly bend­ing

At the shrine of pray­er as­cend­ing

Praise and sighs to­ge­ther blend­ing

From his lips in mourn­ful strain;

Glowing with sin­cere con­tri­tion

And with child­like

blest sub­mis­sion

Ever ris­eth this p­eti­tion:

Jesus

come—O come to reign.

List again—the low earth sigh­eth

And the blood of mar­tyrs cri­eth

From its bo­som

where there li­eth

Millions up­on mill­ions slain—

Lord

how long ere

Thy word giv­en

All the wicked shall be driv­en

From the earth by bolts of Heav­en?

Jesus

come—O come to reign.

Kingdoms now are reel­ing

fall­ing;

Nations lie in woe ap­pall­ing

On their sages vain­ly call­ing

All these won­ders to ex­plain;

While the slain around are ly­ing

God’s own lit­tle flock is sigh­ing

And in se­cret places cry­ing

Jesus

come—O come to reign.

Here the wick­ed live se­cure­ly

Of to­mor­row boast­ing sure­ly

While from those who’re walk­ing pure­ly

They ex­tort dis­hon­est gain:

Yea

the meek are bur­dened

driv­en;

Want and care to them are giv­en;

But they lift the cry to Heav­en

Jesus

come—O come to reign.

Christian

cheer thee; land is near­ing;

Still be hope­ful

noth­ing fear­ing;

Soon

in ma­jes­ty ap­pear­ing

You’ll be­hold the Lamb once slain:

O how joy­ful then to hear Him

While all na­tions shall re­vere Him

Saying to His flock who fear Him

I have come—on earth to reign!