Classic Poem

Our Christ shall come in glory and in power,
Born to command.
He shall not weep or pray, or cringe or cower,
But with God's lightnings in His hand
Tremendous there shall stand.

All eyes shall drop before His awful face
In doubt and dread;
When He shall come, the Saviour of our race,
The crown of triumph on His head,
Even as the Prophets said.

The sharp sword of His vengeance He shall wield
To smite and slay.
Justice shall be His weapon and our shield;
And all who dare to disobey
His breath shall sweep away.

His hand shall wipe away their griefs and woes,
Who cling to Him.
His wrath like chaff shall scatter all their foes;
His power shall build Jerusalem
With sounding song and hymn.

The hand and thought of man shall quail before
That shape august;
And prostrate every face to earth adore
Him in whose balance we are dust,
The mighty King—the Just.

Then shall the song of triumph once again
For us be heard,
And Israel's children sound the joyous strain,
The Christ has come—the King and Lord—
The Wonderful—the Word.