1 "He comes! He comes! to judge the world,"
Aloud th’archangel cries!
While thunders roll from pole to pole,
And lightnings cleave the skies.

2 Th’affrighted nations hear the sound,
And upward lift their eyes;
The slumbering tenants of the ground
In living armies rise.

3 Amid the shouts of numerous friends,
Of hosts divinely bright,
The Judge in solemn pomp descends,
Arrayed in robes of light.

4 His head and hairs are white as snow,
His eyes a fiery flame,
A radiant crown adorns His brow,
And Jesus is His name.

5 Writ on His thigh His name appears,
And scars His victories tell:
Lo! in His hand the Conqueror bears
The keys of death and hell.

6 So He ascends the judgment seat,
And, at His dread command,
Myriads of creatures round His feet
In solemn silence stand.

7 Princes and peasants here expect
Their last, their righteous doom;
The men who dared His grace reject,
And they who dared presume.

8 "Depart, ye sons of vice and sin,"
The injured Jesus cries!
While the long kindling wrath within
Flashes from both His eyes.

9 And now, in words divinely sweet,
With rapture in His face,
Aloud His sacred lips repeat
The sentence of His grace:

10 "Well done, my good and faithful sons,
The children of My love!
Receive the scepters, crowns and thrones
Prepared for you above."