1 And when the last loud trumpet
Shall rend the vaulted skies,
And bid the entombed millions
From their cold beds arise,
Our ransomed dust, revived,
Bright beauties shall put on,
And soar to the blest mansions
Where our Redeemer’s gone. MIM 27.2
2 Our eyes shall then, with rapture,
The Savior’s face behold!
Our feet, no more diverted.
Shall walk the streets of gold!
Our ears shall hear with transport
The hosts celestial sing!
Our tongues shall chant the glory
Of our immortal King. MIM 27.3