Mosier of the ages hear the children when they cry. Out on the plains
they pray. Hold aright the storms that sweep over, bear the tempest far
away. The chief of Jehovah's tribune--his hosts above the azure lights
of gray. His spirit searches over the plains through all the souls of
day.
We have a refuge in the light of the first morning, made brighter by the
noon. Unfolding from Zion's harbor unto all the saints upon the
spectered earth is strewn. Jehovah's gift descending through the gloom.
A great rock that was cut out above the earth, but not with hands was
hewn.
Then by the river of Zion all his saints shall meet once more. The
angels in their salvation shall set his children then before. When the
king descends to welcome his hosts upon that living shore, in one speech
all voices of earth his high praises shall sing while crossing over.
This is when the afterwhile has become the present, and the day to come
is just now. When those who hasten to be saved before his throne they
bow. The tears of grief shall be no more for ever. The call comes forth
to know just how. You saints shall answer with the light of life sealed
on every ransomed brow.
* * * * *