The Trumpet - The Chariot

The chariot!

The chariot!

Its wheels roll in fire

As the Lord cometh down

In the pomp of his ire!

Lo!

Self moving it drives

On its pathway of clouds

And the heavens with the burden

Of Godhead are bowed

O Mercy!

O Mercy!

Look down from above

Great Creator on us

Thy sad children with love

When beneath, to their darkness

The wicked are driven

May our justified souls

Find a welcome in heaven