Pressed my soul with future prospect

Published in 4 hymnals

Representative Text

1 Press'd my soul with future prospect,
Sing creation's dismal end;
Long foretold by sacred Prophets,
Holy Muse thy succours lend.
Say what horror what confusion,
Will each sinful heart dismay
What distresses, tortures, anguish
Reign in that tremendous day.

2 Rumbling Thunders forky shinings,
Ghastly glaring thwart the gloom;
Nature shaking to her center,
Groans prophetic of her doom.
Cliffy rocks and lofty mountains,
O'er the trembling basis rock;
While Earth yawns in dreaful chasme,
With the each strong repeated shock.

3 Seas with horrid palpitation,
Ravage round their frighted shores,
Blustering wind with frantic fury,
Through each ruin'd fabric roars,
The Suns' bright orb is veil'd in sackcloth
Stripp'd of all his sparkling beams;
The moon has dropp'd her silver radiance
And dissolves in purple streams.

4 Stars of light divinely brilliant,
Studding night, Cimmerian robe;
Hurl'd in darkness from their orbits,
Each a darken'd ruin'd globe.
Hark! the martial trumpet sounding
Rends in twain the crystal sky;
Vengeance blazing lights the concave
Of profound eternity.

5 See the sovereign Aether furling;
Nobler scenes salute mine eyes;
Heav'n in solemn pomp descending,
Crimson banners dress the skies.
On the arched striped rainbow,
Sits entrhon'd the eteranl God,
Myriads of Celestial Warriors
Round him wait his awful nod.

6 Go, he grieves, ye winged herald,
Bring my saints from ev'ry wind,
Those my blood from death has ransom'd
Those in life's fair volume penn'd,
Strait a holy troop obsequious,
Swift as lightning skim'd along,
And from ev'ry grave collecting,
Jesus' dear redeemed Throng.

7 Death no more with livid aspect,
Spurs his sallow steed to stay;
Now the ravenous foe disgorges,
All his long imprison'd prey,
Rous'd from Tombs each wicked rises,
By the trumpet's thrilling sound
Round they stare with wild amazement,
Wond'ring at the scene profound.

8 Fill'd with horror dread and anguish,
Rocks and mountains they implore,
To fall and crush them out of being;
Wishing now to be no more.
Hark the Herald calls to judgment,
Justice draws her glittering sword,
Lightning glances from his aspect;
Thunder clothe his awful word.

9 Go ye cursed fill'd with vengeance,
Nor for peace my name invoke;
Ye who once despis'd my mercy,
And my fury dare provoke:
Go to pits of burning sulphur,
Ever banish'd from my rest,
Where the souls eternal larum,
Ceaseless beats your pulsive breast.

Source: A Selection of Psalms and Hymns: done under the appointment of the Philadelphian Association #CCCVIII

Text Information

First Line: Pressed my soul with future prospect
Title: Judgment
Meter: D
Language: English
Copyright: Public Domain



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A Selection of Psalms and Hymns #308

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A Selection of Psalms and Hymns #CCCVIII

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A Selection of Psalms and Hymns #308

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