1 How long shall Death, the tyrant, reign
And triumph o'er the just?
How long the blood of martyrs slain,
Lie mingled with the dust?

2 When shall the tedious night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond desires would pray him down,
Our love embrace him here.

3 Let faith arise, and climb the hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are his chariot wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.

4 We hear the voice, "Ye dead, arise!"
And lo! the graves obey;
And waking saints, with joyful eyes,
Salute the expected day.