The Lord, How Dreadful Is His Wrath

The Lord

how dread­ful is His wrath

How ter­ri­ble His judg­ments are!

His an­ger shakes the guil­ty earth

And spreads de­struct­ion and des­pair.

The light­nings fly quick round His throne

And ven­geance sits up­on His brow;

All na­ture trem­bles at His frown

The floods con­geal

the mount­ains flow.

None can re­sist His migh­ty pow­er

And none esc­ape His pierc­ing eye;

Before him rag­ing flames de­vour

At His re­buke blas­phem­ers die.

Rebels who scorn His mild­er voice

At His loud thun­ders trem­bling stand;

Th’im­pe­tuous sea starts at the noise

And hor­ror fills the neigh­bor­ing land.

Blessed then is he

for ev­er blessed

Whose guilt is purged

whose soul is clear;

Nor anx­ious grief dis­turbs His breast

Nor sin ex­cites tor­ment­ing fear.

Nature in wild dis­or­der hurled

He views

but hopes for joys to come;

Sits on the wrecks of rui­ned worlds

And waits for wings to waft him home.