The Day of Wrath, that Dreadful Day,

Which shall the World in Ashes lay,

Is Coming—will not, cannot stay.

The last loud Trumpet's wond'rous Sound,

Shall through the cleaving Graves rebound,

And wake the Nations under Ground.

Nature and Death shall, with Surprize,

Behold the Conscious Wretches Rise,

And View their Judge with frighted Eyes.

Then shall, with Universal Dread,

The Sacred Mystick Rolls be read

To try the Living and the Dead.

The Judge ascends his awful Throne,

But when he makes all Secrets known

How will a Guilty Face be shown?

What Intercessor shall I take,

To save my last Important stake,

When the most Just have Cause to Quake?

Thou mighty, formidable King,

Mercy and Truth's Eternal Spring,

Some Charitable Pity bring.

Forget not what my Ransom cost,

Nor let my Dear bought Soul be lost,

In Storms of Guilty Terrour tost.

Thou who for me hast felt such Pain,

Whose Precious Blood the Cross did stain;

Let not thy Birth and Death be vain.

Thou whom avenging Powers obey,

Remit, before the Reckoning Day,

The Debt which I can never pay.

Surrounded with Amazing Fears,

Whose Load my Soul with Anguish bears,

I sigh, I weep; Accept my Tears.

Thou who wast mov'd with Mary's Grief,

And by absolving of the Thief,

Hast giv'n me Hopes, Oh! give Relief.

Oh! let thy Blood my Crimes deface,

And fix me with those Heirs of Grace,

Whom Thou on thy Right-Hand shalt Place.

From that Portentous Vast Abyss,

Where Flames devour and Serpents hiss,

Call me to thy Eternal Bliss.

Prostrate, my Contrite Heart I rend,

My God, my Father, and my Friend,

Do not forsake me in my End.

When Justice shall her Sword unsheath,

How will they curse their second Breath,

Who rise to a severer Death?

Great God of Mercies pitty take,

On Souls thou didst Immortal make,

Nor let their State be that of Woe,

Which must, if once, be ever So.