This is a poem by Isaac Watts, entitled Come, Lord Jesus, published in Book 1 of Horae Lyricae (Lyric Poems), 1706.
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When shall thy lovely face be seen?
When shall our eyes behold our God?
What lengths of distance lie between,
And hills of guilt. A heavy load!
Our months are ages of delay,
And slowly every minute wears.
Fly, winged time, and roll away
These tedious rounds of sluggish years,
Ye heavenly gates, loose all your chains,
Let the eternal pillars bow!
Blest Savior, cleave the starry plains,
And make the crystal mountains flow.
Hark, how thy saints unite their cries.
And pray and wait the general doom:
Come, Thou, the soul of all our joys,
Thou, the desire of nations, come.
Put Thy bright robes of triumph on,
And bless our eyes, and bless our ears,
Thou absent love, thou dear unknown,
Thou fairest of ten thousand fairs.
Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint;
Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee;
And every limb, and every joint,
Stretches for immortality.
Our spirits shake their eager wings,
And burn to meet thy flying throne:
We rise away from mortal things
T'attend thy shining chariot down.
Now let our cheerful eyes survey
The blazing earth and melting hills,
And smile to fee the lightnings play,
And slash along before thy wheels.
O for a shout of violent joys
To join the trumpet's thundering found!
The angel herald shakes the skies,
Awakes the graves, and tears the ground.
Ye slumbering faints, a heavenly host
Stands waiting at your gaping tombs:
Let every sacred sleeping dust
Leap into life, for Jesus comes.
Jesus, the God of might and love,
New molds our limbs of cumbrous clay;
Quick as seraphic flames we move;
Active, and young, and fair, as they,
Our airy feet with unknown flight,
Swift as the motions of desire,
Run up the hills of heavenly light,
And leave the weltering world in fire.
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