Thou judge of quick and dead,
Before whose bar se­vere,
With holy joy, or guil­ty dread,
We all shall soon ap­pear.

Our cau­tioned souls pre­pare
For that tre­men­dous day,
And fill us now with watch­ful care,
And stir us up to pray.

To pray, and wait the hour,
That won­drous hour un­known,
When, robed in ma­jes­ty and pow­er,
Thou shalt from Heav­en come down.

The im­mor­tal Son of Man,
To judge the hu­man race,
With all Thy Fa­ther’s daz­zling train,
With all Thy glo­ri­ous grace.

To damp our earth­ly joys,
To in­crease our gra­cious fears,
For ev­er let the arch­an­gel’s voice
Be sound­ing in our ears.

The sol­emn mid­night cry,
Ye dead, the Judge is come,
Arise, and meet Him in the sky,
And meet your in­stant doom!

O may we thus be found
Obedient to His Word,
Attentive to the trump­et’s sound,
And look­ing for our Lord!

O may we thus en­sure
A lot among the blest;
And watch a mo­ment to se­cure
An ev­er­last­ing rest!