My thoughts on aw­ful sub­jects roll,
Damnation and the dead;
What hor­rors seize the guil­ty soul
Upon a dy­ing bed!

Lingering about these mor­tal shores,
She makes a long de­lay,
Till, like a flood, with ra­pid force
Death sweeps the wretch away.

Then swift and dread­ful she des­cends
Down to the fie­ry coast,
Amongst abom­in­able fiends,
Herself a fright­ful ghost.

There end­less crowds of sin­ners lie,
And dark­ness makes their chains;
Tortured with keen des­pair they cry,
Yet wait for fierc­er pains.

Not all their ang­uish and their blood
For their old guilt atones,
Nor the com­pas­sion of a God
Shall heark­en to their groans.

Amazing grace! that kept my breath
Nor bid my soul re­move,
Till I had learned my Sav­ior’s death
And well in­sured His love.