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362. Ascension of Christ.
1
Behold the Lord ascending high,No pomp, imposing, marks his flight;
He rises solemn to the sky,
Till clouds receive him from the sight!
Jehovah's justice satisfied,
Christ quits the world for which he died!
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2
But, though no spectacle sublime,No meteor's glare, no trumpet's sound,
Denotes the Saviour's flight from time,
Acclaiming angels hover round:
The Seraph band, in glad accord,
Attend to heaven their risen Lord!
3
Oh! what a contrast to the hour,When he shall judge the quick and dead!
When, in his own, and Father's power,
He shall the final record spread;
Ten thousand angels in his train,
While all that sleep, shall rise again!
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