The day is come, the so­lemn day of doom;
The Judge ap­pears up­on a shin­ing cloud;
And all man­kind is wak­ened from the tomb
By the arch­an­gel’s trum­pet, clear and loud.
The dead come forth; and all, both small and great,
Are sum­moned to God’s aw­ful judg­ment seat.

Ten thou­sand an­gels are around their Lord,
Forth iss­ues from His throne a fie­ry flood;
And with the migh­ty man­date of His word
He se­pa­rates the wick­ed from the good;
These on the right—those on the oth­er hand—
Waiting their ev­er­last­ing sen­tence stand.

Hide us, ye hills, ye mount­ains, on us fall!
With fear and pierc­ing shrieks the guil­ty cry,
And to the caves and rocks for suc­cor call,
Hide us, O hide us from His search­ing eye;
O save us from the fu­ry of His ire,
From the un­dy­ing worm and lake of fire!

But O what joys the saints of God await!
Bliss un­al­loyed, and sun­shine with­out night;
Christ op­ens wide to them His pa­lace gate,
And bids them drink of plea­sures in­fi­nite;
God wipes all tears for ev­er from their eyes,
And gives to them the life that ne­ver dies.

Thou Christ, who came from Heav’n our wounds to cure,
And all the works of Sa­tan to de­stroy,
O pu­ri­fy us, Lord, as Thou art pure,
That we may come to that un­sul­lied joy,
And fa­shioned in Thy glo­ri­ous im­age be,
And, by Thy grace di­vine, be like to Thee!