Isaac Watts · 510 of 724

Hymn 2

My thoughts on aweful subjects roll, Damnation and the dead; What horrors seize the guilty soul Upon a dying bed!

Ling'ring about these mortal shores, She makes a long delay, Till, like a flood, with rapid force Death sweeps the wretch away.

Then swift and dreadful she descends Down to the fiery coast, Amongst abominable fiends, Herself a frightful ghost.

There endless crowds of sinners lie, And darkness makes their chains; Tortured with keen despair they cry, Yet wait for fiercer pains.

Not all their anguish and their blood For their old guilt atones, Nor the compassion of a God Shall hearken to their groans.

Amazing grace! that kept my breath, Nor bid my soul remove, Till I had learned my Savior's death, And well insured his love!