Trembling be­fore Thine aw­ful throne,
O Lord, in dust my sins I own;
Justice and mer­cy for my life
Contend; O smile, and heal the strife.

The Sav­ior smiles; up­on my soul
New tides of hope tu­mul­tu­ous roll;
His voice proc­laims my par­don found,
Seraphic trans­port wings the sound.

Earth has a joy un­known to Hea­ven,
The new­born peace of sins for­giv­en;
Tears of such pure and deep de­light,
Ye an­gels, ne­ver dimmed your sight.

Ye saw, of old, on cha­os rise
The beau­te­ous pil­lars of the skies;
Ye know where morn ex­ult­ing springs,
And ev­en­ing folds her droop­ing wings.

Bright her­alds of the eter­nal will,
Abroad His er­rands ye ful­fill;
Or, throned in floods of bea­my day,
Symphonious in His pre­sence play.

Loud is the song, the hea­ven­ly plain
Is shak­en with the cho­ral strain;
And dy­ing ech­oes, float­ing far,
Draw mu­sic from each chim­ing star.

But I amid your choirs shall shine,
And all your know­ledge shall be mine:
Ye on your harps must lean to hear
A sec­ret chord that mine will bear.