All the elements are telling it; the sky is full of signs;
There's an ominous awakening foreboding God's designs.
E'en the timorous are telling what the mighty fear to speak,
And the powerful are cringing with the wicked and the weak.
It is God's expostulation with the wretched and the rich,
With the princes in their palaces, the drunkards in the ditch.
Christ is coming, Christ is coming, all the prophecies proclaim,
With the mighty hosts of heaven, in his chariot of flame.
He is coming, He is coming, it is written in the sky;
Earth is rip'ning for the harvest, and the harvest time is nigh.

He has heard the cry of millions in the slavery of sin;
He has listened to the pleading of the ones he died to win;
He is gathering His armies for our liberation day;
And the great emancipation human hands cannot delay.
He is whispering in the whirlwind, He is speaking in the flood,
In the perfume-laden zephyr, in the bursting of the bud.
All the stars are singing praises, to the glory of His name,
While the reeling earth is groaning 'mid a load of sin and shame.
Vice parades her gaudy trappings 'mid the pleasure-seeking throng.
Tinging with enticing glamour every separate way of wrong.
Homes once happy are in ruins through the gay deceiver's wiles;
While the throng are singing praises to the drama that beguiles
There's a lurking fascination for the slinking libertine