My Soul Pursues No Vulgar Theme

My soul pur­sues no vul­gar theme

The force of wit

or beau­ty’s charm:

The last as­size

the Judge su­preme

My in­most heart and soul alarm.

See where He comes with so­lemn state

In cloudy cha­ri­ot swift­ly borne;

Myriads of an­gels on Him wait

His aw­ful pro­gress to adorn.

A migh­ty trump the sig­nal gives

That wakes the nations un­der­ground;

Affrights the sea

its dead re­vives

Who hear alike the pow­er­ful sound.

Sublime in air is fixed a throne

Wrought of a large and splen­did cloud;

From hence the Judge to all is known

Round this the trem­bling na­tions crowd.

Among the rest I must ap­pear

Before the glit­ter­ing judg­ment seat:

O may I have no cause to fear

But in the Judge the Sav­ior meet!

Now would I make the Judge my friend

Accept His grace

His laws ob­ey;

Then with the Judge shall I as­cend

To worlds of bliss and end­less day.