Lift up your heads, ye scattered saints,
Redemption draweth nigh;
Our Saviour hears the orphans' plaints';
The widow's mournful cry.
The blood of those who have been slain
For vengeance cries aloud:
Nor shall its cries ascend in vain,
For vengeance on the proud.
The signs in heaven and earth appear;
And blood, and smoke, and fire;
Men's hearts are failing them for fear;
Redemption's drawing nigher.
Earthquakes are bellowing 'neath the ground,
And tempests through the air;—
The trumpet's blast with fearful sound,
Proclaims the alarm of war.
The saints are scattered to and fro,
Through all the earth abroad;
The gospel trump again to blow,
And then behold their God.
Rejoice, ye servants of our God,
Who to the end endure;
Rejoice, for great is your reward,
And your defence is sure.
Although this body should be slain
By cruel, wicked hands;
I'll praise my God in higher strains,
And on Mount Zion stand.
Glory to God, ye saints rejoice,
And sigh and groan no more;
But listen to the spirit's voice;
Redemption's at the door.