Awful Thought Of Endless Doom!
Words: Sensus quis horror
percutit, J. B. de Santeüil (1630-1697),
Translated by R. Campbell
Source: George Radcliffe Woodward, ed, Songs of Syon (London: Schott & Co., Third Edition, 1908), #7
1. Awful thought of endless doom!
Skies are rent, the Judge is come:
Clouds his throne; around him stand
Angel guards, a countless band.
2. Hark, the voice from shore to shore
Tells that time shall be no more:
See the dead from dust arise,
Flurried to the last assize.
3. On his right are placed the just;
To his left the wicked thrust:
Well to him are sinners known,
Quickly sever’d from his own.
4. These a blest retreat have won,
Who had learn’d earth’s joys to shun:
Chose for him the pain and loss,
Follow’d him who bore the Cross
5. Cross, from which the Hebrew turn’d;
Cross, by haughty Gentile spurn’d;
Thee with joy the righteous see,
But the lost with agony.
6. Deeper still their shame and dread,
Seeing him whose blood they shed:
Lord, from sin thy people keep,
Lest its dreadful fruit they reap.
7. Mingling joy with holy fear,
Praise we him whose day is near:
Bless alike the Father’s Name,
And the Spirit’s praise proclaim. Amen.
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