| Text: | A Prospect of the Resurrection |
| Author: | Dr. Watts |
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 heaven appears;
The sweet immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres.
3 I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.
4 I hear the voice, "Ye dead arise!"
And lo the graves obey;
And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th' expected day.
5 They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the midway air,
In shining garments meet their king,
And low adore him there.
5 O may our humble spirits stand
Amongst them cloth'd in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.
7 How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning king
Shall bear us homeward thro' the skies,
On love's triumphant wing!
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | How long shall death the tyrant reign |
| Title: | A Prospect of the Resurrection |
| Author: | Dr. Watts |
| Meter: | C. M. |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1792 |
| Topic: | The Resurrection of the Body; Resurrection Of The Body |
| Source: | Dr. Watts's Lyric |
| Notes: | Public Domain. |