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W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.

Hymn for Advent

Arthur Penrhyn Stanley (1815–1881)

THE LORD is come! On Syrian soil,

The child of poverty and toil—

The Man of Sorrows, born to know

Each varying shade of human woe!

His joy, His glory to fulfil,

In earth and heav’n His Father’s will;

On lonely mount, by festive board,

On bitter cross, despised, adored.

The Lord is come! Dull hearts to wake,

He spake, as never man yet spake,

The Truth that makes His servant free,

The royal law of Liberty.

Though heaven and earth shall pass away,

His living word our spirits stay,

And from His treasures, new and old,

Th’ eternal mysteries unfold.

The Lord is come! With joy behold

The gracious signs, declar’d of old;

The ear that hears, the eye that sees,

The sick restored to health and ease;

The poor that from their low estate

Are rous’d to seek a nobler fate;

The minds with doubt and dread possess’d,

Thus find in Him their perfect rest.

The Lord is come! The world’s great stage

Begins a better, brighter age!

The old gives place unto the new;

The false retires before the true,

A progress that shall never tire,

A central heat of sacred fire,

A hope that soars beyond the tomb,

Reveal that Christ has truly come.

The Lord is come! In Him we trace

The fulness of God’s truth and grace;

Throughout those words and acts divine

Gleams of th’ eternal splendour shine;

And from His inmost Spirit flow,

As from a height of sunlit snow,

The river of perennial life,

To heal and sweeten Nature’s strife.

The Lord is come! In ev’ry heart,

Where Truth and Mercy claim a part!

In every land where Right is Might,

And deeds of darkness shun the light,

In every church, where Faith and Love

Lift earthward thoughts to things above,

In every holy, happy home,

We bless Thee, Lord, that Thou hast come.

The Lord shall come! Where’er the day

Bids earthly shadows flee away;

Where’er across the list’ning sky

The lightning of God’s truth shall fly,

Where’er the gathering eagles sweep

Around corruption’s mould’ring heap,

There, twice and thrice and yet again,

We hear or see the Son of Man.

The Lord shall come! His still small voice

Bids every human heart rejoice,

By each closed door He stands and knocks;

Oh, turn for Him these rusted locks;

Clear from each home the dust of sin

That He may freely pass within;

Give ample verge—give ready room,

For He to be thy guest shall come.

The Lord shall come! In that great day,

When heaven and earth shall pass away,

May we in armour pure and bright

Flash back His own eternal light,

And join at last the white-robed band,

Whose spirits round their Saviour stand,

Where, when this weary world is o’er,

He comes with them to part no more.