In the hush of the silent midnight
Shall the cry of His coming be?
When the day of the Lord’s appearing
Shall flash over earth and sea?
Shall it be at the mornings awaking,
And the beams of the golden sun
Grow pale and be quenched forever
When his journey is just begun?
We know not, we dream not, the hour;
But we know that the time must be
When earth, with its clouds and shadows,
Will shrink, and tremble, and flee;
Will shrink to the deepest centre,
And render before His throne,
The Jewels the Lord will gather,
The Gems that He calls His own.
There, bright in heaven’s noonday splendour,
And robed like the dazzling snow,
The saints to their many mansions,
The chosen and blest, shall go.
And songs of angelic gladness
Be borne on celestial air
To welcome the mighty gathering,
The throng, that shall enter there.
And, oh! in that awful parting,
That day of unchanging doom,
When earth shall give up her millions,
And empty her every tomb,
May we find in the Judge a Saviour,
A Friend whom we know and love,
And be bidden by Him to enter
The courts of His house above.
-Annie Louisa Walker (later Coghill), 1861