Lo, He comes, the King of glory,
See, He rends the yielding sky;
Heav’nly flaming guards attend Him,
And the fearful lightnings fly:
Awful grandeur,
Sinner, now thy doom is nigh!

Earth and elements dissolving,
Orbs of light their luster lose;
The dread trumpets sound tremendous,
Bid the graves their dead disclose;
The pale nations
Now appear as friends or foes.

Thousand times ten thousand standing,
Bow before His radiant throne;
Summoned now to the tribunal,
What for sinners can be done?
Awful crisis,
When each ray of hope is gone!

Oh, the dreadful consternation,
When they hear the sentence giv’n,
Never more to be repealèd,
Parting them from bliss and Heav’n;
And to Tophet
In confusion they are driv’n.

Oh may I at that dread moment,
In the Judge behold a friend;
Hear His voice in loudest accents,
Bid me to His throne ascend;
Join the chorus
That shall never, never end.