Isaac Watts · 615 of 724

Hymn 107

That awful day will surely come, Th' appointed hour makes haste, When I must stand before my Judge, And pass the solemn test.

Thou lovely chief of all my joys, Thou sovereign of my heart! How could I bear to hear thy voice Pronounce the sound, "Depart!"

[The thunder of that dismal word Would so torment my ear, 'Twould tear my soul asunder, Lord, With most tormenting fear.]

[What! to be banished from my life, And yet forbid to die! To linger in eternal pain, Yet death for ever fly!]

O, wretched state of deep despair! To see my God remove, And fix my doleful station where I must not taste his love.

Jesus, I throw my arms around, And hang upon thy breast; Without a gracious smile from thee My spirit cannot rest.

O, tell me that my worthless name Is graven on thy hands; Show me some promise in thy book Where my salvation stands!

[Give me one kind assuring word To sink my fears again, And cheerfully my soul shall wait Her threescore years and ten.]