The Rapture of the Saints

Hark to the trump! Behold

it breaks

The sleep of ag­es now:

And lo! the light of glo­ry shines

On ma­ny ach­ing brow.

Changed in a mo­ment—raised to life

The quick

the dead arise

Responsive to the an­gel’s voice

That calls us to the skies.

Ascending through the crowd­ed air

On ea­gle’s wings we soar;

To dwell in the full joy of love

And sor­row there no more.

Undazzled by the glor­ious light

Of that be­lov­èd brow

We see

with­out a sin­gle cloud

We see the Sav­ior now!

O Lord

the bright and bless­èd hope

That cheered us through the past

Of full eter­nal rest in Thee

Is all ful­filled at last.

The cry of sor­row here is hushed

The voice of pray­er is o’er;*

’Tis need­less now—for Lord

we crave

Thy gra­cious help no more.

Praise

end­less praise alone be­comes

This bright and bless­èd place

Where ev­ery eye be­holds un­veiled

The mys­ter­ies of Thy grace.