The Lord Himself shall descend from Heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God.@1 Thessalonians 4:16

Richard Kempenfelt, Original Hymns and Poems. By Philotheorus (Exeter, England: B. Thorn, 1777).

Denbigh Welsh melody (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
Richard Kempenfelt (1718–1782)

Hark! ’tis the trump of God
Sounds through the realms abroad,
Time is no more.
Horrors invest the skies;
Graves burst, and myriads rise;
Nature, in agonies,
Yields up her store.

Changed in a moment’s space
Lo, the affrighted race
Shriek and despair;
Now they attempt to flee,
Curse immortality,
And eye their misery
Dreadfully near.

Quick reels the bursting earth,
Rocked by a storm of wrath,
Hurled from her sphere;
Heart rending thunders roll,
Demons tormented howl,
Great God! support my soul,
Yielding to fear.

O my Redeemer, come;
And through the fearful gloom
Brighten Thy way;
How would our souls arise,
Soar through the flaming skies,
Join the solemnities
Of this great day!

See! see! th’incarnate God
Swiftly emits abroad
Glories benign;
Lo! lo! He comes—He’s here;
Angels and saints appear,
Fled is my every fear,
Jesus is mine.

High on a flaming throne
Rides the eternal Son,
Sovereign, august!
Worlds from His presence fly,
Shrink at His majesty;
Stars, dashed along the sky,
Awfully burst.

Thousands of thousands wait
Round the judicial seat,
Glorified here;
Prostrate the elders fall;
Winged is my raptured soul;
High to the Judge of all,
Lo! I draw near.

O my approving God!
Washed in Thy precious blood,
Bold I advance;
Fearless we range along,
Join the triumphant throng,
Shout an ecstatic song,
Through the expanse.