Hark! don't you hear the turtle dove,
The token of redeeming love?
From hill to hill we hear the sound,
The neighboring valleys echo round.
O Zion, hear the turtle dove,
The token of your Savior's love!
She comes the desert land to cheer,
And welcomes in the jubil-year.
The winter's past, the rain is o'er,
We feel the chilling winds no more;
The spring is come; how sweet the view,
All things appear divinely new.
On Zion's mount the watchmen cry,
"The resurrection's drawing nigh:"
Behold, the nations from abroad,
Are flocking to the mount of God.
The trumpet sounds, both far and nigh;
O sinners, turn! why will ye die?
How can you spurn the gospel charms?
Enlist with Christ, gird on your arms.
These are the days that were foretold,
In ancient times, by prophets old:
They longed to see this glorious light,
But all have died without the sight.
The latter days on us have come,
And fugitives are flocking home;
Behold them crowd the gospel road,
All pressing to the mount of God.
O yes! and I will join that band,
Now here's my heart, and here's my hand
With Satan's band no more I'll be,
But fight for Christ and liberty.
His banner soon will be unfurled,
And he will come to judge the world;
On Zion's mountain we shall stand,
In Canaan's fair, celestial land.
When sun and moon shall darkened be,
And flames consume the land and sea,
When worlds on worlds together blaze,
We'll shout, and loud hosannas raise.