For the vision of the Bridegroom,
Waits the well-beloved Bride.
Severed only for a season,
From her Well-beloved's side.
For the hour when morn ascendeth,
And the shadows disappear,
For the signs of heavenly glory,
She is waiting, waiting here!
Morn of morns, it comes at last,
All the gloom of ages past.
For the day of days the brightest,
She is waiting, waiting here!
For the coming of the Bridegroom,
Whom, though yet unseen, we love.
For the King of saints, returning,
In His glory from above.
For the shout that shakes the prison,
For the trumpet loud and clear.
For the voice of the archangel,
She is waiting, waiting here!
Morn of morns, it comes at last,
All the gloom of ages past.
For the day of days the brightest,
She is waiting, waiting here!
For the light beyond the darkness,
When the reign of sin is done.
When the storm has ceased its raging,
And the haven has been won.
For the joy beyond the sorrow,
Joy of the eternal year.
For the resurrection splendor,
She is waiting, waiting here!
Morn of morns, it comes at last,
All the gloom of ages past.
For the day of days the brightest,
She is waiting, waiting here!

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