The Glorious Day

The night is spent, the morning ray Comes ush' ring in the glorious day, The promised time of rest. Hark! ' tis the trumpet sounding clear; Its joyful notes burst on the ear, Proclaiming tidings blest.

The harvest of the earth is ripe; The dead who sleep in Christ awake In likeness of their Lord. To life immortal they arise, Inheritors of Paradise, Where death finds no abode.

Stupendous scene! Those men of old, Prophets who have the story told Of this transcendent day; The patriarchs, apostles, too, Who lived and died with this in view, In glorious array.

Now entered into their reward, Those faithful servants of the Lord Have not served him in vain; A band of heaven' s royalty, In glory and in majesty, O' er all the earth they reign.