Thomas Toke Lynch (1818–1871)

LIFT up your heads, rejoice,

Redemption draweth nigh;

Now breathes a softer air,

Now shines a milder sky;

The early trees put forth

Their new and tender leaf;

Hushed is the moaning wind

That told of winter’s grief.

Lift up your heads, rejoice,

Redemption draweth nigh;

Now mount the laden clouds,

Now flames the darkening sky;

The early scattered drops

Descend with heavy fall,

And to the waiting earth

The hidden thunders call.

Lift up your heads, rejoice,

Redemption draweth nigh;

O, note the varying signs

Of earth, and air, and sky;

The God of Glory comes

In gentleness and might,

To comfort and alarm,

To succour and to smite.

He comes the wide world’s king,

He comes the true heart’s friend,

New gladness to begin,

And ancient wrong to end;

He comes to fill with light

The weary, waiting eye:

Lift up your heads, rejoice,

Redemption draweth nigh.