#36The Resurrection

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AND when the last loud trumpet Shall rend the vaulted skies, And bid the entomb'd millions From their cold beds arise, Our ransom'd dust revived, Bright beauties shall put on, And soar to the blest mansions Where our Redeemer's gone.
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Our eyes shall then, with rapture, The Saviour's face behold; Our feet, no more diverted, Shall walk the streets of gold; Our ears shall hear with transport The hosts celestial sing; Our tongues shall chant the glory Of our Immortal King.

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