1 See the gloomy gath'ring cloud,
Hanging o'er a sinful land!
Sure the Lord proclaims aloud,
Times of trouble are at hand;
Happy they who love his name!
They shall always find him near;
Tho' the earth were wrapt in flame,
They have no just cause for fear.

2 Hark! his voice in accents mild,
(Oh, how comforting and sweet)
Speaks to ev'ry humble child,
Pointing out a sure retreat!
"Come, and in my chambers hide,
To my saints of old well known;
There you safely may abide,
'Till the storm be overblown.

3 "You have only to repose
On my wisdom, love and care;
When my wrath consumes my foes,
Mercy shall my children spare;
while they perish in the flood,
You that bear my holy mark,
Sprinkled with atoning blood,
Shall be safe within the ark."

4 Sinners, see the ark prepar'd!
Hast to enter while there's room;
Tho' the Lord his arm has bar'd,
Mercy still retards your doom;
Seek him while there yet is hope,
Ere the day of grace be past,
Lest in wrath he gives you up,
And this call shall prove your last.