In that awful hour when all the tribes of men
Shall before the throne of justice stand,
When the deep shall yield her hidden treasure,
And the dead arise from sea and land—
Who shall be able to stand
When the King shall name His own?
When the day of hope is flown,
And we reap what we have sown,
Who shall be able to stand?
When the mountains and the hills shall disappear,
And the islands of the sea depart,
When the thunders of God’s wrath awaken
Bitter memories in each careless heart—
When the loud despairing cry of myriads lost
Shall ascend from earth’s unnumbered host
Who have passed the bounds of God’s forbearance
And have sinned against the Holy Ghost—
Shall we stifle now the Spirit’s kindly voice
And in trespasses and sins lie dead,
While the door of mercy still stands open,
Ere the hope of pardoning grace is fled?