Who is that comes from Ed­om,
With His gar­ments dyed in blood?
It is He who bought our freedom,
Bearing sin’s ac­curs­èd load;
Mighty Sav­ior!
Who alone the wine press trod.

Nothing to Thy foot­stool bring­ing,
But unwor­thi­ness and guilt,
Solely to Thy mer­its cling­ing,
All my hopes on Thee are built;
Blessèd Je­sus!
Thou canst save me if Thou wilt!

Who is this that comes from Ed­om?
But ’tis not as once He came;
Trembling thou­sands now must meet Him
On His car of cloud and flame;
Guilty sin­ners!
Who on earth des­pised His name.

Ne’er may I be of the num­ber
Who shall thus His throne sur­round,
Startled from a guil­ty slum­ber
By the final trum­pet sound;
Seeking shel­ter,
Where no shel­ter can be found!

Oh, Thou Migh­ty One of Ed­om,
Who the wine press trodd’st alone,
Let me tri­umph in Thy free­dom
Which Thy bleed­ing love has won;
Then I’ll meet Thee,
Fearless, on Thy judg­ment throne!