The Praise of Sion Waits for Thee

The praise of Si­on waits for Thee

My God

and praise be­comes Thy house;

There shall Thy saints Thy glo­ry see

And there per­form their pub­lic vows.

O Thou whose mer­cy bends the skies

To save when hum­ble sin­ners pray

All lands to Thee shall lift their eyes

And is­lands of the north­ern sea.

Against my will my sins pre­vail

But grace shall purge away their stain;

The blood of Christ shall nev­er fail

To wash my gar­ments white again.

Blest is the man whom Thou shalt choose

And give him kind ac­cess to Thee;

Give him a place with­in Thy house

To taste Thy love di­vin­ely free.

Let Ba­bel fear when Si­on prays;

Babel

pre­pare for long dis­tress

When Sion’s God Him­self ar­rays

In ter­ror and in right­eous­ness.

With dread­ful glo­ry God ful­fills

What His af­flict­ed saint’s re­quest;

And with al­migh­ty wrath re­veals

His love

to give His church­es rest.

Then shall the flock­ing na­tions run

To Si­on’s hill

and own their Lord;

The ris­ing and the set­ting sun

Shall see the Sav­ior’s name ad­ored.