Hark! the trumpet, earth’s four regions
Parting at the Garden head,
Empties Heav’n of all its legions,
Beggars hell of all its dead:
All who sang the globe’s creation,
Caroled when the Christ was born,
Reap the world’s regeneration,
Thrust their sickle in the corn.
O, to see them write in glory
All they pictured once in gloom,
See who wiped the damp-drops gory,
Smoothed His grave clothes in the tomb;
See what brows were bent before Him
When the mourner sought Him there,
See them now with thee adore Him,
Magdalena, in the air!
Should one angel thence be parted,
One who ministered to life,
Binding once the broken hearted,
Crowning now the battle strife?
He who o’er the hill of Sion
Drove the deathful whirlwind past,
Chained the Babylonish lion,
Walked upon the furnace blast.
Who from shroudless destitution
Bears the beggar to his rest;
Spread the worms of retribution
On the tyrant’s purpled breast;
Now the guarding and the guarded
Crowd the Judgment seat in one;
Soon rewarding and rewarded
Part no more before the throne.