1 How long shall death the tyrant reign,
And triumph o'er the just;
While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust?

2 Lo, I behold the scatter'd shades,
The dawn of Heaven appears;
The sweet immortal morning spreads,
Its blushes round the spheres.

3 I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.

4 I hear the voice, "Ye dead arise!"
And lo the graves obey;
And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th' expected day.

5 They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the midway air,
In shining garments meet theirK,
And low adore him there.

6 O may our humble spirits stand
Amongst them cloath'd in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.

7 How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning King
Shall bear us homeward thro' the skies,
On love's triumphant wing!