As once the Sav­ior rose on high,
When mur­der­ers bore Him to His doom,
So all that live and all that die
Shall break the dun­geons of the tomb.

And when again He walks the skies,
When roll­ing clouds His path sur­round,
The na­tions of the dead shall rise
At the deep stir­ring trum­pet’s sound.

The Fa­ther of our err­ing race
Shall give the judg­ment to the Son,
And spread the books be­fore His face,
Remembering all that they have done.

Then all whose days were passed in sin,
Who turned from Hea­ven with gui­lty heart,
When God would fain have led them in,
Shall hear the aw­ful word, De­part.

But if I keep my God in view,
In all I think, and all I do,
Then when my Sav­ior wakes the dead,
His own right hand shall crown my head.