Hymn 2:107 [That Awful Day Will Surely Come]

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Title:     Hymn 2:107 [That Awful Day Will Surely Come]
Author: Isaac Watts [More Titles by Watts]

The everlasting absence of God intolerable.

That awful day will surely come,
Th' appointed hour makes haste,
When I must stand before my Judge,
And pass the solemn test.

Thou lovely chief of all my joys,
Thou sovereign of my heart,
How could I bear to hear thy voice
Pronounce the sound, "Depart?"

[The thunder of that dismal word,
Would so torment my ear,
'Twould tear my soul asunder, Lord,
With most tormenting fear.]

[What, to be banish'd from my life,
And yet forbid to die!
To linger in eternal pain,
Yet death for ever fly!]

O wretched state of deep despair,
To see my God remove,
And fix my doleful station where
I must not taste his Love.

Jesus, I throw my arms around,
And hang upon thy breast;
Without a gracious smile from thee
My spirit cannot rest.

O tell me that my worthless name
Is graven on thy hands;
Shew me some promise in thy book
Where my salvation stands!

[Give me one kind assuring word,
To sink my fears again,
And cheerfully my soul shall wait
Her threescore years and ten.]

[The end]
Isaac Watts's poem: Hymn 2:107 [That Awful Day Will Surely Come]

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