1 Long upon the mountains, weary.
Have the scattered flock been torn;
Dark the desert paths, and dreary;
Grievous trials have they borne.
Now the gath'ring call is sounding,
Solemn in its warning voice;
Union, faith, and love, abounding,
Bid the little flock rejoice.
2 Now the light of truth they're seeking.
In its onward track pursue;
All the ten commandments keeping,
They are holy, just, and true.
On the words of life they're feeding,
Precious to their taste, so sweet;
All their Master's precepts heeding,
Bowing humbly at his feet.
3 Soon He comes, with clouds descending;
All his saints, entombed, arise;
The redeemed, in anthems blending,
Shout their vict'ry thro' the skies.
O, we long for thine appearing!
Come, O Saviour, quickly come!
Blessed hope! our spirits cheering,
Take thy ransomed children home.