Hark! The Trumpet, Earth’s Four Regions

Hark! the trum­pet

earth’s four re­gions

Parting at the Gar­den head

Empties Heav’n of all its le­gions

Beggars hell of all its dead:

All who sang the globe’s cre­ation

Caroled when the Christ was born

Reap the world’s re­ge­ne­ra­tion

Thrust their sic­kle in the corn.

O

to see them write in glo­ry

All they pic­tured once in gloom

See who wiped the damp-drops go­ry

Smoothed His grave clothes in the tomb;

See what brows were bent be­fore Him

When the mourn­er sought Him there

See them now with thee ad­ore Him

Magdalena

in the air!

Should one an­gel thence be part­ed

One who min­is­tered to life

Binding once the brok­en heart­ed

Crowning now the bat­tle strife?

He who o’er the hill of Si­on

Drove the death­ful whirl­wind past

Chained the Ba­by­lon­ish li­on

Walked up­on the fur­nace blast.

Who from shroud­less des­ti­tu­tion

Bears the beg­gar to his rest;

Spread the worms of re­tri­bu­tion

On the ty­rant’s pur­pled breast;

Now the guard­ing and the guard­ed

Crowd the judg­ment seat in one;

Soon re­ward­ing and re­ward­ed

Part no more be­fore the throne.