CIX. A Prospect of the Resurrection

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 When shall the tedious Night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond Desires would pray him down,
Our Love embrace him here,

3 Let Faith arise, and climb the Hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are his Chariot Wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.

4 Lo, I behold the scatt'ring Shades,
The Dawn of Heav'n appears,
The sweet Immortal Morning spreads
Its Blushes round the Spheres,

5 I see the Lord of Glory come,
And flaming Guards around!
The Skies divide to make him room,
The Trumpet shakes the Ground.

6 I hear the Voice! "Ye Dead arise;"
And lo, the Graves obey,
And waking Saints with joyful Eyes
Salute th' expected Day.

7 They leave the Dust, and on the Wing
Rise to the middle Air,
In shining Garments meet their King,
And low adore him there.

8 O may my humble Spirit stand
Amongst them cloth'd in white!
The meanest Place at his Right Hand
Is infinite Delight.

9 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
Language: English
Publication Date: 1791
Topic: Death and Resurrection
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