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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 heav'n appears:
The sweet, immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres,
3 I hear the voice! "ye dead arise;"
And lo! the graves obey;
And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th'expected day.
4 They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the mid-way air;
In shining garments meet their King,
And bow before him there.
5 O may our humble spirits stand
Among them cloth'd in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | How long shall death, the tyrant, reign |
Title: | The Resurrection of the Just |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1845 |
Topic: | Consummation of Things: Resurrection |