O God, mine inmost soul convert,
And deeply on my thoughtful heart
Eternal things impress!
Give me to feel their solemn weight,
And tremble on the brink of fate,
And wake to righteousness.
Before me place, in dread array,
The pomp of that tremendous day,
When Thou with clouds shalt come,
To judge the nations at thy bar;
And tell me, Lord, shall I be there,
To meet a joyful doom?
Be this my one great business here,
With holy diligence and fear
To make my calling sure;
Thine utmost counsel to fulfil,
And suffer all thy righteous will,
And to the end endure.
Then, Saviour, then my soul receive,
Transported from this vale, to live
And reign with Thee above;
Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
And hope, in full, supreme delight
And everlasting love.
THAT day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away,
What power shall be the sinner's stay?
How shall he meet that dreadful day?
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll;
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be God the trembling sinner's stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away
THE last loud trumpet's wondrous sound
Shall through the rending tombs rebound,
And wake the nations under ground.
Nature and death shall with surprise
Behold the pale offenders rise,
And view the Judge with conscious eyes.
Then shall, with universal dread,
The sacred, mystic book be read,
To try the living and the dead.
The Judge ascends his awful throne;
He makes each secret sin be known,
And all with shame confess their own.
O then! what interest shall I make,
With whom shall I my refuge take,
When the most just have cause to quake?
Thou mighty, formidable King,
Thou mercy's unexhausted spring,
Some comfortable pity bring!
Forget not what my ransom cost,
Nor let my dear-bought soul be lost,
In storms of guilty terror tost.
Thou who for me didst feel such pain,
Whose precious blood the cross did stain,
Let not those agonies be vain!
Thou whom avenging powers obey,
Cancel my debt (too great to pay)
Before the last accounting day.
Surrounded with amazing fears,
Whose weight my soul with anguish bears, I sigh, I weep ;-accept my tears:
Thou who wert moved with Mary's grief,
And, by absolving of the thief,
Hast given me hope, now give relief.
WHO would not be a Christian! Who but now
Would share the Christian's triumph and his hope!
His triumph is begun. 'Tis his to hail,
Amid the chaos of a world convulsed,
A new creation rising. 'Mid the gloom
Which wraps the low concerns of states and kings,
He marks the morning star; sees the far East
Blush with the purple dawn; he hears a trump,
Louder than all the clarions, and the clang
Of horrid war, swelling, and revelling still,
In lengthening notes, its all-awakening call—
The trump of jubilee. Are there not signs,
Thunders and voices in the troubled air?
Do ye not see, upon the mountain tops,
Beacon to beacon answering? Who can tell
But all the harsh and dissonant sounds, which long
Have been, are still, disquieting the earth,
Are but the tuning of the varying parts
For the grand chorus, which shall usher in
The hastening triumph of the Prince of Peace!
Yes, His shall be the kingdoms. He shall come,
Ye scoffers at his tarrying. Hear ye not,
F'en now, the thunder of his wheels? Awake,
Thou slumb'ring world! Ev'n now the symphonies
Of that blest song are floating through the air—
"Peace, peace on earth, and glory be to God!"
|