wakes the dead

Now spring-tide showers its foison on the land, And lively hearts wend forth, a joyous band, For 'Isa's breath wakes the dead earth to life, And trees gleam white with flowers, like Musa's hand.

After the usual prologue an angel thrice blows the trumpet blast that wakes the dead, crying aloud Surgite!

When, shriv’lling, like a parchëd scroll, The flaming heavens together roll, When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead,— III.

“Thrice pronounc’d, in accents dread, The thrilling verse that wakes the dead: Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath’d a sullen sound.”

I hear a shout that moves the earth, A cry that wakes the dead!