The cha­ri­ot! the cha­ri­ot!
Its wheels roll on fire
As the Lord com­eth down
In the pomp of His ire:
Self mov­ing it drives
On its path­way of cloud,
And the heav’ns with the bur­den
Of God­head are bowed.

The glo­ry! the glo­ry!
By my­ri­ads are poured
The hosts of the an­gels
To wait on the Lord;
And the glo­ri­fied saints
And the mar­tyrs are there,
And all who the palm wreath
Of vic­to­ry wear!

The trum­pet! the trum­pet!
The dead have all heard:
Lo, the depths of the stone
Covered char­nel are stirred;
From the sea, from the land,
From the south and the north,
The vast ge­ne­ra­tions
Of man are come forth.

The judg­ment! the judg­ment!
The thrones are all set,
Where the Lamb and the white
Vested el­ders are met!
All flesh is at once
In the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eter­ni­ty
Hangs on His word!

Oh mer­cy! oh mer­cy!
Look down from ab­ove,
Creator! on us Thy
Sad child­ren, with love!
When be­neath to their dark­ness
The wick­ed are driv’n,
May our sanc­ti­fied souls
Find a wel­come in Heav’n!