The chariot! The chariot!
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Its wheels roll in fire
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As the Lord cometh down
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In the pomp of his ire!
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Lo! Self moving it drives
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On its pathway of clouds
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And the heavens with the burden
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Of Godhead are bowed
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O Mercy! O Mercy!
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Look down from above
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Great Creator on us
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Thy sad children with love
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When beneath, to their darkness
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The wicked are driven
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May our justified souls
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Find a welcome in heaven
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The Trumpet
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The Chariot |