The an­gel comes, he comes to reap
The har­vest of the Lord!
O’er all the earth with fa­tal sweep
Wide waves his flam­ing sword.

And who are they, in sheaves to bide
The fire of ven­geance bound?
The tares, whose rank lu­xu­ri­ant pride
Choked the fair crop around.

And who are they, re­served in store
God’s trea­sure-house to fill?
The wheat, a hun­dred-fold that bore
Amid sur­round­ing ill.

O King of Mer­cy! grant us pow­er
Thy fie­ry wrath to flee!
In Thy de­stroy­ing an­gel’s hour
O ga­ther us to Thee!