His holy Church has walked the way He went;
Afflicted, destitute,
And sore from head to foot.
Thou yet shalt see her, all her trials ended,
Robed as in garments woven white of flame,
When He “by thousand thousand saints attended,”
Their lifted foreheads burning with His name,
Shall come to claim the rest
Who wait His advent blest.
She will be glorious; neither spot nor wrinkle