I

When the trumpet's sound shall wake

All the tenants of the tomb,

Men with terror then shall quake,

But the righteous hopeful rise

To secure the promised prize.

II

Severed from the just that day,

Sinners crying in their woe

Pass to chastisement for aye,

Trembling 'neath the awful rod,

Of the stern decree of God.

III

Lord of glory, by Thy grace

Come in pity to our aid;

Make us worthy of a place

With the just who dwell with Thee

In Thy bliss, eternally.