The trumpets ring, their golden splendor spills,
A flood of beauty mortals can’t abide,
Through Heaven’s halls where radiant wonder thrills,
Too vast for flesh in frailty to reside.
A glorified body must our form remake,
For only then can eyes endure the sight,
No mortal frame could bear the glory’s wake,
Or stand within the fanfare’s holy light.
Transformed, we rise, with strength beyond decay,
Each sense reborn to grasp the boundless scene,
The trumpets’ call demands this grand array,
A vessel pure for beauty’s sovereign sheen.
Thus glorified, we gaze in awe replete,
To see our King face to face, complete.