1 Alas! for I have seen the Lord,
With a drawn sword he stood;
Now might he sheathe it in my flesh,
And bathe it in my blood.
2 I've dar'd him with my mighty sins,
As if he was to slow;
But now he comes both arm'd and girt,
As an enraged foe.
3 What shall a guilty sinner do,
When justice does appear?
O wither shall I flee from him,
Whose place is ev'ry where?
4 As I can neither stand nor fly,
So neither can I bear
The mighty hand which grinds the rocks,
And doth foundations tear.
5 My pale, my poor, my trembling soul,
Does start at ev'ry thing;
It hourly fears huge hosts of wrath
From this incensed King.
6 Should he but his commission grant,
All creatures would engage
Against me as their foe profess'd,
With an united rage.
7 My fears are just; I deserve hell,
And 'tis my proper hire;
But who can dwell; O! who can dwell
With everlasting fire?