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Hymns From The Land Of Luther by Jane Borthwick




|Brethren, now are we the sons of God: and It doth not yet appear what we shall be.| -- I John 3:2.

|Wie wird mir seyn!|


transl., Sarah Findlater

What shall I be, my Lord, when I behold Thee

In awful majesty at God's right hand,

And 'mid th' eternal glories that enfold me,

In strange bewilderment, O Lord, I stand?

What shall I be? -- these tears, they dim my sight,

I can not catch the blissful vision right.

What shall I be, Lord, when Thy radiant glory,

As from the grave I rise, encircles me;

When brightly pictured in the light before me,

What eye hath never seen, my eyes shall see?

What shall I be? Ah! blessed and sublime

Is the dim prospect of that glorious time!

What shall I be, when days of grief are ended,

From earthly fetters set for ever free;

When from the harps of saints and angels blended,

I hear the burst of joyful melody?

What shall I be, when, risen from the dead,

Sin, death, and hell I never more shall dread?

What shall I be, when all around are thronging

The loved of earth, where I have come to dwell;

When all is joy and praise -- no anxious longing,

No bitter parting, and no sad farewell?

What shall I be? Ah! how the streaming light

Can lend a brightness to this dreary night!

Yes; faith can never know the full salvation,

Which Jesus for His people will prepare;

Then will I wait in peaceful expectation,

Till the Good Shepherd comes to take me there.

My Lord, my God, a blissful end I see,

Though now I know not what I yet shall be!

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