S. G. Stock

LORD, Thy ransomed Church is waking

Out of slumber far and near,

Knowing that the morn is breaking

When the Bridegroom shall appear;

Waking up to claim the treasure

With thy precious life-blood bought,

And to trust in fuller measure

All Thy wondrous death hath wrought.


Praise to Thee for this glad shower,

Precious drops of latter rain;

Praise, that by Thy Spirit’s power

Thou hast quickened us again;

That Thy gospel’s priceless treasure

Now is borne from land to land,

And that all the Father’s pleasure

Prospers in Thy pierced hand.


Praise to Thee for saved ones yearning

O’er the lost and wandering throng;

Praise for voices daily learning

To upraise the glad new song;

Praise to Thee for sick ones hasting

Now to touch Thy garment’s hem;

Praise for souls believing, tasting

All Thy love has won for them.


Set on fire our heart’s devotion

With the love of Thy dear name;

Till o’er every land and ocean

Lips and lives Thy cross proclaim.

Fix our eyes on Thy returning,

Keeping watch till Thou shalt come,

Loins well girt, lamps brightly burning;

Then, Lord, take Thy servants home.


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