Oh that day, that day of ire,
Told of pro­phet, when in fire
Shall a world dis­solved ex­pire!

Oh what ter­ror shall be then,
When the Judge shall come again,
Strictly search­ing deeds of men!

When a trump, of aw­ful tone,
Through the cave se­pul­chral blown,
Summons all be­fore the throne.

What amaze­ment shall o’er­take
Nature, when the dead awake,
Answer to the Judge to make!

Open then the book shall lie,
All o’er­writ for ev­ery eye
With a world’s ini­qui­ty.

When the Judge His place has ta’en,
All things hid shall be made plain,
Nothing un­av­enged re­main.

What then, wretch­ed! shall I speak?
Or what in­ter­cess­or seek,
When the just man’s cause is weak?

Jesus, Lord, re­mem­ber, pray,
I the cause was of Thy way:
Do not lose me on that day.

King of aw­ful ma­jes­ty,
Who the saved does free­ly free,
Fount of mer­cy, pi­ty me.

Tired Thou sat, still seek­ing me—
Crucified to set me free:
Let such pain not fruit­less be.

Terrible Av­eng­er, make
Of Thy mer­cy me par­take,
Ere that day of ven­geance wake.

As a cri­mi­nal I groan;
Blushing deep, my fault I own;
Grace be to a sup­pli­ant shown.

Thou who Mary did for­give,
And who bade the rob­ber live,
Hope to me does al­so give.

Though my pray­er un­wor­thy be,
Yet oh set me, gra­cious­ly,
From the fire eter­nal free.

’Mid Thy sheep my place com­mand;
From the goats far off to stand,
Set me Lord, at Thy right hand.

And when them who scorned Thee here
Thou hast judged to doom se­vere,
Bid me with Thy saved draw near.

Lying low be­fore Thy throne,
Crushed my heart in dust, I groan:
Grace be to be a sup­pli­ant shown.