Lo, He comes, the King of glo­ry,
See, He rends the yield­ing sky;
Heav’nly flam­ing guards at­tend Him,
And the fear­ful light­nings fly:
Awful gran­deur,
Sinner, now thy doom is nigh!

Earth and ele­ments dis­solv­ing,
Orbs of light their lus­ter lose;
The dread trum­pets sound tre­men­dous,
Bid the graves their dead dis­close;
The pale na­tions
Now ap­pear as friends or foes.

Thousand times ten thou­sand stand­ing,
Bow before His ra­di­ant throne;
Summoned now to the tri­bun­al,
What for sin­ners can be done?
Awful cri­sis,
When each ray of hope is gone!

Oh, the dread­ful con­ster­na­tion,
When they hear the sen­tence giv’n,
Never more to be re­peal­èd,
Parting them from bliss and Heav’n;
And to To­phet
In con­fu­sion they are driv’n.

Oh may I at that dread mo­ment,
In the Judge be­hold a friend;
Hear His voice in loud­est ac­cents,
Bid me to His throne as­cend;
Join the chor­us
That shall ne­ver, ne­ver end.