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The Coming Of The Lord


While the wintry winds were blowing,
And the rivers darkly flowing,
And the tempest driving wildly through the long, deserted street,
By a flickering fire low burning,
Longing for his Lord’s returning,
Sat an aged pilgrim musing on the coming of His feet.

Now upon the embers gazing,
Now his eyes devoutly raising,
The howling blast he heard not, nor the drifting of the sleet;
And his eye would strangely glisten
As he strained his ear to listen
For his absent Master’s footfall for the coming of His feet.

Memory’s gentlest gales were blowing,
And thought’s deepest rivers flowing,
While their sighs and murmurs blending into music strangely sweet;
And Time seemed backward flying,
To his vision scenes supplying,
As his heart this song indited of the coming of His feet.


When the flowers of earth are springing,
And the birds with gladness singing,
And the cloud-chased sunbeams touch me with a fervent glow and fleet,
Then there comes a sacred feeling O’er my spirit strangely stealing
As I think upon “the rapture” and the coming of His feet.


When the summer sun shines stronger,
And the days are warm and longer,
And a world of blended beauties on the smiling landscape meet,
Then my love-smit heart seems vying
With the zephyrs in their sighing
For “The Altogether Lovely” and the coming of His feet.


When the year, with harvests golden,
In rich autumn’s hands is holden,
And the leaves begin to wither and earth’s glories to retreat;
When the dull days are returning
Oft I feel a greedy yearning
For the rustling of His garments and the coming of His feet. feet.


When the winter winds are howling,
And the heavens darkly scowling,
And the mariner is praying while the storms against him beat,
I can feel a deep emotion,
Like the wave that swells the ocean,
As I listen with impatience for the coming of His feet.

When the west, the sun receiving
From the ocean’s bosom heaving,
Glows with streaks of purple glory which scarce hide God’s Mercy-seat
While a moment he reposes,
Ere the glowing portal closes,
Then I often long so wildly for the coming of His feet

When the midnight hour is dreary,
When the morning star is cheery,
When from east the day is rolled, and in the noon-tide heat,
When the shadows are declining,
When the fitful moon is shining,
I am waiting, watching, longing for the coming of His feet.

In the day of light and gladness,
In the night of gloom and sadness,
When my cup is running over,
or when favours I entreat,
At all times and in all places
This sweet hope my spirit braces:
It is only till I meet Him at the coming of His feet

“He is coming, He is coming!”
Air, and earth, and sea are humming;
Restrained creation yearneth the King of Peace to greet
Victor crowned and glory bearing,
Everlasting honours wearing,
Yet as Calvary’s Lamb I’ll know Him at the coming of His feet.
William Blane

(Revelation 22:20)

So I am’ Watching quietly every day;
Whenever the sun shines brightly I rise and say,
Surely it is the shining of His face!
And in the piled-up clouds of His high place
Beyond the sea I sense His coming soon
To summon me.

And when a shadow falls across the window of my room,
Where I am working my appointed task,
I lift my head to watch the door – and ask
If He is come;
And a presence answers gently in my home,
Only a few more shadows,
And He will come’.

FAR BETTER (Phil 1: 23)

To leave this world of sorrow, grief and pain,
Never to shed another tear again,
To be with Christ – in Heaven, where He doth reign.

Far better!
If we must pass through death’s dark valley here,
There is no evil we have cause to fear,
We know the Lord has promised to be near.

Far better!
To gaze upon the Saviour’s blessed brow,
Once wreathed in thorns, but crowned with glory now,
And at His feet in adoration bow.

Far better!
To join the heavenly chorus round the throne,
To praise Him, Who for our sins did atone,
And on that cross the mighty victory won
Far better!
To meet our loved ones who had gone before,
What glad reunions on that blissful shore!
How sweet the thought that we shall part no more.

Far better!
With such a hope how could we want to stay
In this sad world’—Oh haste the glorious day
When we shall hear the shout —‘Rise up and come away’,
To be with Christ-which is far better!!


He’s coming soon for sinners such as I
He’s coming soon to take me home on high
He’s coming soon I’ll bid this world goodbye
He’s coming soon for me


We’ll meet in the morning when all earth’s trials are o’er
We’ll meet in the morning on that blissful heavenly shore
Our tears and our sorrows will have vanished all away
We’ll then have passed from earth’s dark night to heaven’s most perfect day

At home with our Saviour and never more to part
And share in the joy of His ever loving heart
To join with the ransomed in that happy heavenly song
Oh grant Blessed Saviour the time will not be long


To David’s fair city the Saviour once came
Was born of a virgin of no earthly fame
He was the Son given and Almighty God
Creator of all things but slept on the sod.

His life was of suffering, sorrow and shame
The world was His own but His rights did not claim
The foxes had holes and the birds had their nest
The Mount of Olives the place of His rest.

His coming to earth was to purchase a bride
His riches in glory He did lay aside
As Kinsman Redeemer, He’ll do His part
His duties as such He never will thwart.

The price of redemption He freely has paid
When our sins which were many upon Him were laid
The cry from His lips, ‘It is finished’ he said
And the Almighty Victor then bowed His head.

In glory the Bridegroom will come for His bride
The bride that He purchased when for her he died
And now she is watching and waiting each day
To hear that loud shout to arise come away.

Come then, Lord Jesus, we are waiting to hear
The sound of the trumpet so loud and so clear
And then in a moment transformed we shall be
Made like our dear Bridegroom whose face we shall see.


I’m waiting, Lord, just waiting
The passing of the night,
For soon I shall behold Thee,
Where faith gives place to sight:
To see Thy face—what will it be?—
And dwell with Thee eternally.

I’m watching for the day star,
Bright herald of the dawn,
To tell me Thou art coming
To take me where Thou’rt gone;
For here upon earth’s barren shore
There’s nothing for me anymore.

I’m listening, Lord, just listening
For Thy triumphant voice,
No sound like this hath ever
Made my poor heart rejoice.
Oh, then o’er death the victory,
And I shall ever be with Thee.

I’m waiting, watching, listening,
Nor will it be in vain;
Thou’st said, “I’ll not forget thee,
I’ll surely come again”;
Thy promise is the same, I know,
As ’twas two thousand years ago.
Helen McDowell


The Morning Star will soon appear
‘Twill be the end of night
For those who know the Saviour here
Will dwell with Him in light.

In that blest place where He has gone
No light from moon or sun
But radiance from th’ Eternal One
And from His own Dear Son.

No heat, or tears, or sorrow there
They’ll all be swept away
Naught but joy in that land so fair
‘Twill be for endless day.

Let us His saints lift up our head
For soon the Lord will come
To take His own for whom He bled
To His eternal home.

No change of company in that place
The same as was on earth
For all redeemed by sovereign grace
Are one by second birth.

We wait to see this Morning Star
In brightest glory shine
Amid the myriad hosts that are
Redeemed by blood divine.


The coming of the Lord draws near
The trumpet sound we soon shall hear
The dead and living shall arise
To meet the Saviour in the skies.

Christ was the firstborn from the dead
By God’s own power, His word has said
Then those who do to Him belong
Will rise to sing redemption’s song.


The Lord shall come with trumpet voice
The dead in Christ shall rise
Then we the living shall rejoice
To meet Him in the skies.

‘Tis for that morn each saint awaits
The time is drawing near
When He will come through pearly gates
And for His own appear.

Not pearly gates or jasper wall
Or golden streets to tread
Our worship, songs of praise are all
To Him whose blood was shed.

This one on whom the world poured scorn
Is crowned with glory now
No more to wear the cruel thorn
That marred His lovely brow.


1 Corinthians 15:19-20

If in this life dear Lord alone
There’s hope for Adam’s race
And none their guilty sins atone
And none show sovereign grace

We would of all most miserable be
And better had no birth
If heaven our eyes should never see
But only scenes of earth

Our hopes in Thee our risen Lord
For Thou hast borne the cost
And God has pledged His Holy Word
That none who trust are lost

This heaven and home for all who take
The guilty sinners place
And here on earth their sins forsake
Made objects of His grace