Behold, what light rolls back the sky?
What fear and tre­pi­da­tion!
The trum­pets blast a vic­t’ry cry
For ran­somed con­gre­ga­tions.
And lead­ing them, their so­ve­reign head,
Is Christ the judge of quick and dead,
Demanding ex­ul­ta­tion.

No doubt or athe­is­tic thought
Shall then de­ny God’s pow­er.
Those who against his Gos­pel fought
Shall wail and gnash and cow­er.
For those who claim they could not know,
Creation’s wit­ness here be­low
Condemns them in that hour.

The Spi­rit-called and blood-re­deemed
Shall have full vin­di­ca­tion,
Enjoying God with bliss un­dreamed
In ho­ly con­sum­ma­tion.
And those that sleep in Christ, who rise
With flesh made new be­fore their eyes,
Receive glo­ri­fi­ca­tion.

Then let our voice erupt in song
In pray­er for His re­turn­ing.
Be pleased, Lord, not to tar­ry long
To end cre­ation’s yearn­ing.
Acquitted at your judg­ment seat,
We’ll cast our crowns be­fore your feet—
Not ours but Christ’s the earn­ing.