And will the Judge des­cend?
And must the dead arise?
And not a sin­gle soul es­cape
His all dis­cern­ing eyes?

And from His right­eous lips
Shall such a sen­tence sound?
And through the mill­ions of the damned
Spread black des­pair around?

Depart from Me, ac­curs­èd,
To ev­er­last­ing flame,
For re­bel an­gels first prepared,
Where mer­cy ne­ver came.

How will my heart en­dure
The ter­rors of that day,
When earth and Heav’n be­fore His face
Astonished, shrink away?

But ere that trum­pet shakes
The man­sions of the dead,
Hark, from the Gos­pel’s gen­tle voice
What joy­ful tid­ings spread!

Ye sin­ners, seek His grace,
Whose wrath ye can­not bear;
Fly to the shel­ter of His cross,
And find sal­va­tion there.

So shall that curse re­move
By which the Sav­ior bled,
And the last aw­ful day shall pour
His bless­ings on your head.