And is it so, Lord Jesus,
That Thou wilt soon return,
To take Thy ransomed people home?
Well may these poor hearts burn.
And at that time, Lord Jesus,
Thy saints shall see Thy face,
Then we’ll adore Thy matchless Name,
For all Thy boundless grace.
For in Thy grace, Lord Jesus,
Thou stoopest very low,
To die upon dark Calvary’s Cross,
And drink our cup of woe.
But it’s all gone, Lord Jesus,
For us as well as Thee;
Our cruel chains of slav’ry snapt,
For Thou hast set us free.
And Thou hast given, Lord Jesus,
To all Thy saints down here,
The hope which cheers this rugged road,
That Thou wilt soon appear.
For this we wait, Lord Jesus,
Thine own dear face to see,
Then we’ll have done with wretched self,
And we shall like Thee be.
O help us then, Lord Jesus,
While we are wandering here,
To keep this blessed hope in view;
Thy “Coming in the Air,”