Lift up your heads Ye Saints that mourn

1 Lift up your heads, ye saints that mourn:
The Christ of God, who died to save,
Has all your sins and sorrows borne,
And ris'n in triumph o'er the grave.

2 Your Prince of life on high now reigns,
Your great High Priest now pleads for grace:
Your Prophet soon shall come again,
From heaven whence He prepares your place!

3 Our long, sad night of death and fear
Full soon shall end in glorious day:
The dawn shall break, the morn appear,
And all the shadows flee away.

4 No sorrow, pain, nor bitter sigh
Nor sting of death for us shall stay:
For every tear from every eye
Shall God our Saviour wipe away.

5 Once more shall we each other greet
Who now are gone, or yet remain:
The saints with joy shall surely meet
And never, never part again.

6 As without hope no more despair,
Nor let your hearts still troubled be:
Lord Jesus, come! And in the air
We all shall gather unto Thee!

-- JPB Thursday 17 August 2006. L.M.