Rise from Your Graves, Ye Dead

Rise from your graves

ye dead!

Thus shall the call be sound­ed

Which on the lat­ter day

Shall find us all as­tound­ed;

Which to the faith­ful flock

Shall pro­mise rare de­light

And fill the trem­bling hearts

Of sin­ners with af­fright.

Rise from your graves

ye dead!

Your sleep at last is ov­er

Ye bless­èd of the Lord

No more with­out shall ho­ver.

The gar­ments are pre­pared

The crowns for you are stored

Enter in­to the joy

And com­fort of your Lord!

Rise from your graves

ye dead!

Come from your earth­ly co­ver;

Ye wick­ed all the pangs

Of hell shall now dis­cov­er.

Ye once re­ject­ed Me

I hold you no­thing worth;

Wailing and gnash­ing teeth

Shall be your lot hence­forth.

Rise from your graves

ye dead!

Lo

here are bone and tis­sue

Flesh

sin­ew

hands

eye

foot!

From earth and air they is­sue.

That where­with you have served

The Lord is glo­ri­fied

That where­with you have sinned

Consumed and cast aside.

Rise from your graves

ye dead!

Ye faith­ful now shall glo­ry

In ha­los like the sun

Undimmed

un­tran­si­to­ry.

Immortal bo­dies with im­mor­tal

Souls shall blend

Ye shall en­joy the rest

Of saints that hath no end.