1 How long shall death the tyrant reign,
And triumph o’er the just;
While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust! MIM 117.4
2 When shall the tedious night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond desires would pray him down,
Our love embrace him here. MIM 117.5
3 Let faith arise and climb the hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are his chariot wheels,
And tell how fast they fly. MIM 118.1
4 We hear the voice, “Ye dead, arise!”
And, lo, the graves obey;
And waking saints, with joyful eyes,
Salute th’ expected day. MIM 118.2
5 O may our humble spirits stand
Among them, clothed in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight. MIM 118.3
6 How shall our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning King
Shall bear us homeward through the Skies
On love’s triumphant wing. MIM 118.4