’Tis He! ’Tis He! The Son of God!
He sends His aw­ful voice abroad:
Let earth her Lord re­vere!
With thou­sand saints be­hold Him come;
The world be­fore her judge is dumb,
And waits her doom to hear.

He calls to Hea­ven, He calls to earth;
The na­tions from their tombs come forth,
And throng be­fore His face.
Approach, ye, first, the Sav­ior cries,
Whose boast is in My sac­ri­fice,
And co­ve­nant of grace.

My peo­ple, hear! Your God will speak:
No emp­ty rites and forms I seek,
No spe­cious act or word:
Mine eye is on the heart with­in,
And there the ser­vice must be­gin
That sa­tis­fies the Lord.

Where sec­ret wick­ed­ness I see
The fawn­ing lip or bend­ing knee
But move My scorn and hate!
Lord, on our souls this truth im­press,
And make us all that we pro­fess,
Ere yet it be too late!