The angel comes,—he comes to reap
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The angel comes,—he comes to reapThe harvest of the Lord;O'er all the earth, with fatal sweep,Wide waves his flaming sword.
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And who are they in sheaves to bideThe fire of vengeance, bound?—The tares, whose rank, luxuriant prideChoked the fair crop around.
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And who are they reserved in store,God's treasure-house to fill?—The wheat, a hundredfold that bore,Amid surrounding ill.
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O King of mercy! grant us powerThy fiery wrath to flee;In thy destroying angel's hourO, gather us to thee!