BLESSED LORD, OUR SOULS ARE LONGING

Blessed Lord, our souls are longing
Thee, our risen Head, to see;
And the cloudless morning's dawning,
When Thy saints shall gathered be
Grace and glory,
All our well-springs are in Thee.

All the sorrow we are tasting
Is but as the dream of night:
To the day of God we're hasting,
Looking for it with delight;
Thou art coming,
This will satisfy our sight.

True, the silent grave is keeping
Many a seed in weakness sown:
But the saints, in Thee now sleeping,
Raised in power shall share Thy throne,
Resurrection!
Lord of Glory! 'Tis Thine own.

As we sing, our hearts grow lighter;
We are children of the day;
Sorrow makes our hope the brighter;
Faith regards not the delay;
Sure the promise!
We shall meet Thee on the way.