The Chariot

The cha­ri­ot! the cha­ri­ot!

Its wheels roll on fire

As the Lord com­eth down

In the pomp of His ire:

Self mov­ing it drives

On its path­way of cloud

And the heav’ns with the bur­den

Of God­head are bowed.

The glo­ry! the glo­ry!

By my­ri­ads are poured

The hosts of the an­gels

To wait on the Lord;

And the glo­ri­fied saints

And the mar­tyrs are there

And all who the palm wreath

Of vic­to­ry wear!

The trum­pet! the trum­pet!

The dead have all heard:

Lo

the depths of the stone

Covered char­nel are stirred;

From the sea

from the land

From the south and the north

The vast ge­ne­ra­tions

Of man are come forth.

The judg­ment! the judg­ment!

The thrones are all set

Where the Lamb and the white

Vested el­ders are met!

All flesh is at once

In the sight of the Lord

And the doom of eter­ni­ty

Hangs on His word!

Oh mer­cy! oh mer­cy!

Look down from ab­ove

Creator! on us Thy

Sad child­ren

with love!

When be­neath to their dark­ness

The wick­ed are driv’n

May our sanc­ti­fied souls

Find a wel­come in Heav’n!