The tears shall be wip’d from our eyes,
When thee we behold in the cloud,
And echo the joys of the skies,
And shout to the trumpet of God.
“Come then to thy languishing bride,
Who went’st to prepare us a place,
Receive us with thee to abide,
And rest in thy mercy’s embrace.
Our heaven of heavens be this,
Thy fulness of mercy to prove,