By Sandra C. Bebbington
To Grand-pa-George Hall, Sr.
I see an impression of tomorrow
lingering just beyond the clouds.
I hear those trumpets playing softly
with conviction thundering about.
I hear the royal trumpets playin’
a tune beckoning me home,
guiding me to the pleasant pastures.
In his presence, I will never walk alone.
I hear the royal trumpets sounding
callin’ me to the promised land,
guiding me to thy glorious savior,
leading me to my Lord’s hand.