Think not, when you gather to
Zion, |
Your troubles and trials are
through-- |
That nothing but comfort and
pleasure |
Are waiting in Zion for you. |
No, no; 'tis design'd as a
furnace; |
All substance, all textures to
try -- |
To consume all the "wood,
hay and stubble," |
And the gold from the dross
purify. |
|
Think not, when you gather to
Zion |
That all will be holy and pure
-- |
That deception, and falsehood
are banish'd; |
And confidence wholly secure. |
No, no; for the Lord our
Redeemer |
Has said that the tares with
the wheat |
Must grow; until the great day
of burning |
Shall render the harvest
complete. |
|
Think not, when you gather to
Zion, |
The Saints here have nothing
to do |
But attend to your personal
welfare, |
And always be comforting you. |
No, the Saints who are
faithful are doing |
What their hands find to do,
with their might; |
To accomplish the gath'ring of
Israel |
They are toiling by day and by
night. |
|
Think not, when you gather to
Zion, |
The prize and the victory won
-- |
Think not that the warfare is
ended, |
Or the work of salvation is
done. |
No, no; for the great Prince
of Darkness |
A tenfold exertion will make' |
When he sees you approaching
the fountain |
Where the truth you may freely
partake. |
