Awakened by Thy threat­en­ings, Lord,
We long have seen our lost es­tate,
And still we hang upon Thy Word,
And still for full re­demp­tion wait.

’Tis all our soul’s de­sire to know
Thy love­li­ness, and to pro­claim,
To per­fect ho­li­ness be­low,
And show forth all Thy glo­ri­ous name.

Thee with my spir’t have I defied,
And mourned through­out the live long night,
To Thee my ear­ly soul as­pired;
And still I want Thy bliss­ful sight.

I lang­uish for Thy sav­ing grace,
And groan in pain to be re­newed,
And all with­in me seeks Thy face,
And all I am cries out for God.

Thy aw­ful judg­ments first awoke,
And filled with ter­rors from above,
We sank be­neath Thine an­ger’s stroke,
And trem­bled, ’til we felt Thy love.

Sinners shall hear Thy threat­en­ing rod,
Break off their sins, and stand in awe,
For when Thy judg­ments are abroad,
The guil­ty world will learn Thy law.

But nei­ther threats nor smiles can move
The wretch self hard­ened, self-de­stroyed;
Who slights Thy wrath, will spurn Thy love,
And make Thy ten­der mer­cies void.

He in the land of right­eous­ness
Rejects the grace he might re­ceive;
He will not learn the way of peace,
He will not come to Thee, and live.

He will not taste Thy par­don­ing grace,
Thy bleed­ing love he will not see,
Behold his God in Je­su’s face,
Or own the suf­fer­ing De­ity.

Lord, when Thine hand is lift­ed up,
They will not see, nor un­der­stand,
But they shall soon be forced to stoop,
And feel Thy sin-aveng­ing hand.

Who now their hell­ish ma­lice show,
And in Thy peo­ple Thee de­fy,
Malign Thy lit­tle flock be­low,
And touch the ap­ple of Thine eye;

Confounded for their en­vi­ous hate
They soon shall prove Thine ut­most ire,
And trem­ble, and con­fess too late
Our God is a con­sum­ing fire.

Judgment for those who slight Thy grace,
But peace Thou wilt for us or­dain,
Thou hast in­clined us to em­brace
Thyself, and bid our fruit re­main.

O Lord, our God (when all re­newed
And per­fect made in love, we say),
We were by oth­er lords sub­dued,
And base­ly yield­ed to their sway.

Long did our lusts and pass­ions reign,
And ruled us with an ir­on rod,
But lo! we now their yoke dis­dain;
And yield us ser­vants to our God.

Redeemed from all ini­qui­ty,
Thine all vic­to­ri­ous grace we own;
Worship and power as­cribe to Thee,
And live and die to Thee alone.

Thro’ Thee Thy good­ness we pro­claim,
We glo­ry in Thy gra­cious pow­er,
And boast we of Thine on­ly name,
And speak, and think, of sin no more.

Our old usurp­ing sins are dead,
Thou hast the law­less ty­rants slain,
Buried, no more to lift their head;
No, ne­ver shall they rise again.

No spark of sin is left alive,
No least re­mains, or small­est seed;
That they might ne­ver more re­vive,
The Son hath made us free in­deed.

Thou all their me­mo­ry hast erased,
Their be­ing ut­ter­ly de­stroyed,
Their name eter­nal­ly de­faced,
And filled our sin­less souls with God.