SIGNS OF THE TIMES.
Reading edition
WRITTEN IN PRISON.
Lift up your heads, ye scattered saints, Redemption draweth nigh; Our Saviour hears the orphans' plaints'; The widow's mournful cry. The blood of those who have been slain For vengeance cries aloud: Nor shall its cries ascend in vain, For vengeance on the proud. The signs in heaven and earth appear; And blood, and smoke, and fire; Men's hearts are failing them for fear; Redemption's drawing nigher. Earthquakes are bellowing 'neath the ground, And tempests through the air;— The trumpet's blast with fearful sound, Proclaims the alarm of war. The saints are scattered to and fro, Through all the earth abroad; The gospel trump again to blow, And then behold their God. Rejoice, ye servants of our God, Who to the end endure; Rejoice, for great is your reward, And your defence is sure. Although this body should be slain By cruel, wicked hands; I'll praise my God in higher strains, And on Mount Zion stand. Glory to God, ye saints rejoice, And sigh and groan no more; But listen to the spirit's voice; Redemption's at the door.