And when the last loud trumpet

And when the last loud trumpetShall rend the vaulted skies,And bid the entombed millionsFrom their cold beds arise,Our ransomed dust, revived,Bright beauties shall put on,And soar to the blest mansionsWhere our Redeemer 's gone.

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 transportThe hosts celestial sing!Our tongues shall chant the gloryOf our immortal King.