The King from his throne will deign to come down
To acclaim his own, and with glory crown
The soul sincere, who cries from his heart
For some new song—some high born art.
At last the dust and the din of earth’s way
Will shine in rapture of our toiling day;
The narrow path trod, the rugged way too,
Will glow with a beauty we never knew,
In the coming new Morn on the Mountain fair,
Translated with Christ in his glorified air.