Let wanton men be­ware,
How Je­sus they des­pise;
In aw­ful pomp He will ap­pear,
Descending from the skies!

His trum­pet will pro­claim
The Judge, the Judge is near!
And earth will melt with fer­vent flame
And seas dry up with fear!

A shout­ing hea­ven­ly host
Around Him will be ranged;
The dead will hear and start up first
And then the quick be changed.

Ye wise and fa­vored few,
Who lodge at mer­cy’s gate,
Oh, keep the Sav­ior well in view,
And for His com­ing wait.

And hear, ye fool­ish men,
Who talk with im­pi­ous breath,
And glo­ry in a life un­clean:
Such mirth will end in death.

Your bit­ter sad re­morse
No tongue can tru­ly tell,
If Je­sus once pro­nounce His curse,
And sink you down to hell.

Oh, thought­less men, be wise,
Before it be too late,
From sleep awake, from sin arise,
And knock at mer­cy’s gate.