The Psalms and Hymns of Isaac Watts ‎#II.107

II.107. Hymn 107

That awful day will surely come,
Th' appointed hour makes haste,
When I must stand before my Judge,
And pass the solemn test.

Thou lovely chief of all my joys,
Thou sovereign of my heart!
How could I bear to hear thy voice
Pronounce the sound, "Depart!"

[The thunder of that dismal word
Would so torment my ear,
'Twould tear my soul asunder, Lord,
With most tormenting fear.]

[What! to be banished from my life,
And yet forbid to die!
To linger in eternal pain,
Yet death for ever fly!]

O, wretched state of deep despair!
To see my God remove,
And fix my doleful station where
I must not taste his love.

Jesus, I throw my arms around,
And hang upon thy breast;
Without a gracious smile from thee
My spirit cannot rest.

O, tell me that my worthless name
Is graven on thy hands;
Show me some promise in thy book
Where my salvation stands!

[Give me one kind assuring word
To sink my fears again,
And cheerfully my soul shall wait
Her threescore years and ten.]

Text Information

• First Line: That awful day will surely come
• Title: Hymn 107
• Author: Isaac Watts
• Meter: C. M.
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1806

Tune Information

(No tune information)