A voice is crying in the wilderness.
Hark! Hark! How faintly heard it is by some;
By others not at all! Divine duress
Is lost in trade and market place and home.
The scholar's midnight oil burns low and ill
Illumines pages to truth dedicate.
The shout, "The bridegroom cometh," fails to thrill
Thought dull with apathy, hearts chill with hate.
O sons of men, though few you be that hear,
Awake your kin! Rouse peoples far and wide,
That when His Son in glory shall appear,
You too as sons of God may at His side
Join the angelic choirs of rebirth:
"Praise, praise to God! Christ lives again on earth!"
