YOUR HARPS, YE MOURNING SAINTS

1YOUR harps, ye mourning saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the coming King of kings,
Bid every string awake!

2Awake, the day-star bright,
Hath risen, and 'tis dawn!
The herald of the King of light
Hath come, awake, 'tis morn!

3Swell loud the tuneful song,
He cometh! Angels sing!
He will not tarry very long,
Tune then each silent string.

4Bid every heart awake!
'Tis surely death to sleep,
Oh, from the willows take the harp,
And faithful vigil keep.

5Sing Jesus' dying love,
Sing that he rose again—
Sing now he comes to burst the tombs,
And with his saints to reign!