With great and awful power,

With great and awful power,
Jesus, the Judge, shall come,
To bid his foes depart,
And take his children home;
How will the wicked quake and fear,
When they before him must appear.

He comes, the world to judge,
Nor will he take a bribe;
His wrath none can escape,
But his beloved bride;
Millions will unto mountains call,
To hide them and upon them fall.

Poor soul, what is thy hope?
On what dost thou depend?
Art thou a stranger still
To Christ, the sinner's Friend?
Soon thou must leave thy all below,
And then, O then, what wilt thou do?

Christians, lift up your heads;
Say, what has Jesus done?
His matchless grace to you
The Saviour has made known;
Yes, you shall all his glory see,
And from the second death be free.