The Lord, how dread­ful is His wrath,
How ter­ri­ble His judg­ments are!
His an­ger shakes the guil­ty earth,
And spreads de­struct­ion and des­pair.

The light­nings fly quick round His throne,
And ven­geance sits up­on His brow;
All na­ture trem­bles at His frown,
The floods con­geal, the mount­ains flow.

None can re­sist His migh­ty pow­er,
And none esc­ape His pierc­ing eye;
Before him rag­ing flames de­vour,
At His re­buke blas­phem­ers die.

Rebels who scorn His milder voice,
At His loud thun­ders trem­bling stand;
Th’im­pe­tuous sea starts at the noise,
And hor­ror fills the neigh­bor­ing land.

Blessed then is he, for ever blessed,
Whose guilt is purged, whose soul is clear;
Nor anx­ious grief dis­turbs His breast,
Nor sin ex­cites tor­ment­ing fear.

Nature in wild dis­ord­er hurled,
He views, but hopes for joys to come;
Sits on the wrecks of rui­ned worlds,
And waits for wings to waft him home.