Scripture Verse

The day of God, wherein the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat. 2 Peter 3:12

Introduction

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Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Words: Charles Wes­ley, Hymns for the Year 1756.

Music: Fal­kirk, from Tho­mas A. Arne (1710–1778) (🔊 pdf nwc).

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Thomas A. Arne (1710–1778)

Origin of the Hymn

The earth­quake re­ferred to was that which de­stroyed the ci­ty of Lis­bon on No­vem­ber 1, 1755; the plague had ref­er­ence to a fa­tal dis­ease that had been de­stroy­ing the cat­tle by the thou­sands; and the war re­ferred to was the threat­ened in­va­sion of the French, which was im­mi­nent at that time.

These three cir­cum­stan­ces gave un­pre­ce­dent­ed so­lem­ni­ty to the fast day that called the peo­ple to pub­lic con­fes­sion on Feb­ru­ary 6, 1756. Wes­ley makes the fol­low­ing ent­ry in his jour­nal for this date:

The fast day was a glor­ious day, such as Lon­don has scarce seen since the Res­to­ra­tion. Ev­ery church in the ci­ty was more than full, and a so­lemn se­ri­ous­ness sat on ev­ery face. Sure­ly God hear­eth the pray­er, and there will yet be a length­en­ing of our tran­quil­i­ty. Ev­en the Jews ob­served this day with a pe­cul­iar so­lem­ni­ty.

Nutter, p. 311

Lyrics

Stand the om­ni­potent de­cree!
Je­ho­vah’s will be done!
Nature’s end we wait to see,
And hear her fi­nal groan.
Let this earth dis­solve, and blend
In death the wick­ed and the just;
Let those pon­der­ous orbs des­cend,
And grind us into dust.

Rests se­cure the right­eous man;
At his Re­deem­er’s beck,
Sure to emerge and rise again;
And mount above the wreck;
Lo! the heav’n­ly Spi­rit tow­ers,
Like flames o’er na­ture’s fu­ner­al pyre,
Triumphs in im­mor­tal pow­ers,
And claps His wings of fire.

Nothing hath the just to lose,
By worlds on worlds de­stroyed:
Far be­neath his feet he views,
With smiles, the flam­ing void;
Sees this uni­verse re­newed,
The grand mil­len­ni­al reign be­gun;
Shouts with all the sons of God,
Around th’eter­nal throne.

Resting in this glo­ri­ous hope
To be at last re­stored,
Yield we now our bo­dies up
To earth­quake, plague, or sword;
Listening for the call di­vine,
The lat­est trum­pet of the sev­en,
Soon our soul and dust shall join,
And both fly up to Hea­ven.