When God comes forth, with ter­rors clad,
From His re­splen­dent seat,
What mor­tal can His pow­er evade,
His arm of ven­geance meet?

Impetuous light­nings swift­ly glide,
Hoarse thun­ders round Him roar;
Lo, tem­pests, storms rage far and wide,
And spread from shore to shore.

The sea its wont­ed bed for­sakes,
And stars come rush­ing down;
The earth to its foun­dation shakes,
And sinks be­neath His frown.

Now sin­ners, pierced with guil­ty stings,
Dread His av­eng­ing eye;
And migh­ty con­quer­ors, po­tent kings,
To rocks and ca­verns fly.

In Je­sus’ spot­less right­eous­ness,
Oh may I then ap­pear;
And ’midst the ter­ror and dis­tress,
I need not yield to fear.