Jesus, shield from sin's dark errors,
Name which every foe o'ercomes;
Death, the dreaded king of terrors,
Death itself to thee succumbs.
Thou hast conquered,
Joyful praise my soul becomes.
* * * * *
Fix, O Lord, a tent in Goshen,
Thither come and there abide,
Bow thyself from light celestial,
And with sinful man reside.
Dwell in Zion, there continue,
Where the holy tribes ascend;
Do not e'er desert thy people,
Till the world in flames shall end.
I am through the lone night waiting,
For the dawning of the day;
When my prison door is opened,
When my fetters fall away;
O come quickly,
Happy day of jubilee.
Let me still be meekly wakeful,
Trusting that to all my woes,
By thy mighty hand, Redeemer,
Shall be given a speedy close;
Keep me watching,
For the joyful jubilee.
* * * * *
O'er the gloomy hills of darkness,
Look, my soul, be still and gaze;
All the promises do travail,
With a glorious day of grace;
Blessed jubilee,
May thy morning dawn apace.
Let the Indian, let the Negro,
Let the rude Barbarian see
That divine and Godlike conquest,
Once obtained on Calvary;
Let the gospel,
Loud resound from pole to pole.
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