The Two Advents

He came not with His heav’n­ly crown

His scep­ter clad with pow­er;

His com­ing was in fee­ble­ness

The in­fant of an hour.

A hum­ble man­ger cra­dled first

The vir­gin’s ho­ly birth

And low­ing herds com­pan­ioned there

The Lord of Heav’n and earth.

He came not in His robe of wrath

With arm out­stretched to slay;

But

on the dark­ling paths of earth

To pour ce­les­ti­al day

To guide in peace the wan­der­ing feet

The brok­en heart to bind;

And bear up­on the pain­ful cross

The sins of hu­man kind.

And Thou hast borne them

Sav­ior meek!

And there­fore un­to Thee

In hum­ble­ness and gra­ti­tude

Our hearts shall of­fered be;

And greenly

as the fest­al bough

That on Thy al­tar lies

Our souls

our bo­dies

all be Thine

A liv­ing sac­ri­fice!

Yet once again Thy sign shall be

Upon the heav’ns dis­played

And earth and its in­ha­bi­tants

Be ter­ri­bly afraid;

For not in weak­ness clad Thou com’st

Our woes

our sins

to bear

But girt with all Thy Fa­ther’s might

His ven­geance to de­clare.

The ter­rors of that aw­ful day

Oh! who shall un­der­stand?

Or who ab­ide

when Thou in wrath

Shall lift Thy ho­ly hand?

The earth shall quake

the sea shall roar

The sun in heav’n grow pale

But Thou hast sworn

and wilt not change

Thy faith­ful shall not fail!

Then grant us

Sav­ior! so to pass

Our time in trem­bling here

That when

up­on the clouds of heav’n

Thy glory shall ap­pear

Uplifting high our joy­ful heads

In tri­umph we may rise

And en­ter

with Thy an­gel train

Thy tem­ple in the skies!