As once the Savior rose on high,
When murderers bore Him to His doom,
So all that live and all that die
Shall break the dungeons of the tomb.
And when again He walks the skies,
When rolling clouds His path surround,
The nations of the dead shall rise
At the deep stirring trumpet’s sound.
The Father of our erring race
Shall give the judgment to the Son,
And spread the books before His face,
Remembering all that they have done.
Then all whose days were passed in sin,
Who turned from Heaven with guilty heart,
When God would fain have led them in,
Shall hear the awful word,
But if I keep my God in view,
In all I think, and all I do,
Then when my Savior wakes the dead,
His own right hand shall crown my head.