1 The night is spent; the morning ray
Comes ushering in the glorious day,
The promised time of rest.
Hark! 'tis the trumpet sounding clear,
Its joyful notes burst on the ear,
Proclaiming tidings blest.
2 Ah! see, the graves are opening now,
The saints come forth, and every brow
Beams with a radiant joy;
To life immortal they arise,
Inheritors of Paradise,
Where death cannot destroy.
3 Stupendous scene! those men of old,
Prophets, who have the story told
Of this transcendent day,
The patriarchs, apostles too,
Who lived and died with it in view,
Come forth in bright array.
4 Now satisfied; for like their Lord,
Whose promise shines within the word,
His likeness they should wear;
A glittering host, like stars on high,
In glory and in majesty,
Upon the earth appear!