He’ll come, the Judge will sure­ly come,
Ye athe­ists mock no more;
His cha­ri­ot wheels are hast­en­ing on,
The Judge is at the door.

Swift glide the streams of time along
To bring the aw­ful day;
Each fly­ing hour with­draw­ing says
The Judge will not de­lay.

See where the migh­ty an­gel stands,
Embracing sea and shore;
To Hea­ven he lifts his hand, and swears
That time shall be no more.

He swears—behold, the Judge des­cends
His office to com­plete;
The tribes of Ad­am tremb­ling stand
Before the judg­ment seat.

Prepare, my soul, to meet thy judge,
Thy life through­out sur­vey;
From evil cease, and learn the good
If Thou wouldst stand that day.

Washed in Thy Sav­ior’s blood thy robes
Shall be both clean and white;
A holy soul can view its judge,
And triumph in the sight.