Hark, how thy saints unite their cries,
And pray and wait the gen’ral 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 heartstrings groan with deep complaint,
Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee,
And ev’ry limb, and ev’ry 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.

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