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Not by the brazen trumpet’s voice,
But the sweet sky-lark’s early lay,
Out tribes are summoned, to rejoice
In God their Saviour on this day.
Not to the battle-field we throng,
With deadly steel in murderous hands,
But on our hill of peace the song
Of triumph bursts from all our bands.
Then, in the temples of the Lord,
Assembling round a throne of grace
We sing, and pray, and hear the word,
And meet our Maker face to face.
Salvation’s silver trumpet brings
Heaven’s richest music to our ears;
Happy, whose heart with rapture springs,
At the first welcome not he hears.
He, when the last dread trumpet’s tone
The dead to second life shall call,
May stand unmoved before the throne,
Though stars, like lightnings, round him fall.
He, where eternal sabbaths shine,
Where all by God himself are taught,
lessons shall learn of truth divine,
Of power and love, surpassing thought.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 8 8 8 (L.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
