And must I be to judg­ment brought,
And an­swer in that day,
For ev­ery vain and idle thought,
And ev­ery word I say?

Yes, ev­ery sec­ret of my heart,
Shall short­ly be made known,
And I re­ceive my just de­sert
For all that I have done.

How care­ful, then, ought I to live,
With what re­li­gious fear!
Who such a strict ac­count must give
For my be­hav­ior here.

Thou aw­ful Judge of quick and dead,
The watch­ful pow­er be­stow;
So shall I to my ways take heed,
To all I speak or do.

If now Thou stand­est at the door,
O let me feel Thee near,
And make my peace with God, be­fore
I at Thy bar ap­pear.

My peace Thou hast al­rea­dy made,
While hang­ing on the tree;
My sins He on Thy bo­dy laid,
And pun­ished them in Thee.

Ah! might I, Lord, the vir­tue prove
Of Thine aton­ing blood,
And know Thou ev­er liv­est above,
My ad­vo­cate with God.

Receive the an­swer of Thy pray­er,
The sense of sin for­giv’n,
And fol­low Thee with lov­ing care,
And go in peace to Heav’n.