How long shall death, the tyrant reign,
And triumph o’er the just,
While the dear blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust?
When shall the tedious night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond desires would pray Him down,
Our love embrace Him here,
Let faith arise, and climb the hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are His chariot wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.
Lo, I behold the scattering shades,
The dawn of Heav’n appears,
The sweet immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres,
I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around:
The skies divide to make Him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.
I hear the voice,
Ye dead arise,
And lo, the graves obey,
And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th’expected day.
They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the middle air,
In shining garments meet their king,
And low adore Him there.
O may my humble spirit stand
Amongst them clothed in white!
The meanest place at His right hand
Is infinite delight.
How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning king
Shall bear us homeward through the skies
On love’s triumphant wing!