My wak­ened soul, ex­tend thy wings,
Beyond the verge of mor­tal things;
See this vain world in smoke de­cay,
And rocks and mount­ains melt away.

Behold the fie­ry del­uge roll,
Through Heav’n’s wide arch, from pole to pole;
Pale sun, no more thy lus­ter boast:
Tremble and fall, ye star­ry host.

This wreck of na­ture all around,
The an­gel’s shout, the trum­pet’s sound,
Loud the des­cend­ing Judge pro­claim,
And ec­ho His tre­men­dous name.

Children of Ad­am, all ap­pear
With rev­er­ence round His aw­ful bar;
For, as His lips pro­nounce, ye go,
To end­less bliss, or end­less woe!

Lord, to my eyes this scene dis­play
Frequent through each re­volv­ing day;
And let Thy grace my soul pre­pare
To meet its full re­demp­tion there.