Ye saints from dust awake, awake,
To joys immortal wing your flight:
Of crowns, and harps, and thrones partake,
They are your endless, blood-bought right.”
LII.
“COME, YE BLESSED!”
Lo! He comes on clouds of glory,
Circled by an angel-throng
Who proclaim His lofty titles
With their trumpets, loud and long.
Halleluiah,