1 And will the Judge descend?
And must the dead arise?
And not a single soul escape
His all-discerning eyes?
2 And from His righteous lips
Shall this dread sentence sound,
And through the numerous guilty throng,
Spread black despair around:
3 "Depart from me, accursed,
To everlasting flame,
For rebel angels first prepared,
Where mercy never came.
4 How will my heart endure
The terrors of that day,
When earth and heaven, before His face,
Astonished, shrink away?
5 But ere that trumpet shakes
The mansions of the dead,
Hark, from the gospel's cheering sound,
What joyful tidings spread!
6 Ye sinners, seek His grace,
Whose wrath ye cannot bear;
Fly to the shelter of His cross,
And find salvation there.
7 So shall that curse remove
By which the Saviour bled;
And the last awful day shall pour
His blessings on your head.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | And will the Judge descend? |
Meter: | S. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | Death |