Sing to the Lord, ye heav’n­ly hosts,
And thou, O earth, ad­ore;
Let death and hell through all their coasts
Stand trem­bling at His pow­er.

His sound­ing cha­ri­ot shakes the sky,
He makes the clouds His throne;
There all His stores of light­ning lie,
Till ven­geance darts them down.

His nos­trils breathe out fie­ry streams
And from His aw­ful tongue
A so­ve­reign voice di­vides the flames,
And thun­der roars along.

Think, O my soul! the dread­ful day,
When this in­cens­èd God
Shall rend the sky, and burn the sea,
And fling His wrath abroad.

What shall the wretch, the sin­ner do?
He once de­fied the Lord;
But he shall dread the Thun­der­er now,
And sink be­neath His Word.

Tempests of an­gry fire shall roll
To blast the re­bel worm,
And beat up­on his nak­ed soul
In one eter­nal storm.