The long last note has sound­ed,
The dead from dust to call;
The sin­ner stands con­found­ed,
With fear on fear sur­round­ed,
As by a sea un­bound­ed,
Before the Judge of all.

No long­er now de­lay­ing
The hour of dread­ed doom;
No more the sen­tence stay­ing,
No more the cross dis­play­ing,
In wrath His throne ar­ray­ing,
The Judge, the Judge has come!

What wild shrill voice of mourn­ing
Comes up from hill and plain?
Dark spir­its, par­don scorn­ing,
Proud hearts, long mer­cy spurn­ing,
Bold re­bels, deaf to warn­ing,
Now cry, but cry in vain!

See how these heav’ns are rend­ed
By yon sky-filling blast;
Earth’s year of grace is ended;
He who in clouds as­cend­ed,
Now, with Heav’n’s hosts at­tend­ed,
Returns, re­turns at last!

Cease, man, thy God-de­fy­ing;
Cease thy best friend to grieve;
Cease, man, thy self-re­ly­ing;
Flee from the end­less dy­ing;
Swiftly thy time is fly­ing;
Embrace the Son and live!

Give up thy vain en­dea­vor
To heal thy wounds and woes;
He is of life the Giv­er,
And from His cross the riv­er,
Which quench­es thirst for ev­er,
All free­ly to thee flows.

With gush, and gleam, and sing­ing,
See the bright fount­ain rise.
For thee that fount is spring­ing,
To thee its glad­ness bring­ing—
Why then so mad­ly cling­ing
To va­ni­ty and lies?