Hymn for 1843

The clouds at length are breaking;The dawn will soon appear,And “Signs” there's no mistaking,Proclaim Messiah near.Awake, awake from sleeping,Attend the “midnight cry,”Ye saints, refrain from weeping,Your Great Deliverer's nigh.

The morning light is beaming;The “day-star” shines on high,Christ's Heralds are proclaimingHis coming in the sky;And earth's eventful storyA few short months will tell,The righteous rise to glory;The wicked sink to hell.

If earth and all her treasure,Are doom'd to fire and flame;Her Royal pomp, and pleasureAre but an empty name!Her Kings—her Crowns—her gloryHer Armies—Fleets—and pride,May bubble forth her storyWhile floating down the tide.

The Ocean, Oh! the ocean,To which her grandeurs tendNow foams in dreadful motion,Her boast and pomp to end.See, see, the flames ascending,The seas, themselves explode;The clouds,–the skies, are rendingWith cries of—‘God’—‘Oh! God’!!

Oh! hear the sad petition,“Rocks crush us into dust;”Oh! pity our condition—Or damned we surely must·We thought that we were wiserThan ‘Pastors’—‘Saints,’ and allYet Sinner—Sceptic—miser—Must suffer once for all.

Ye mortals take the warning,Ten thousand calls invite;Should you neglect the morningThen comes the doleful night.Now mercy's hand extended,The vilest wretch would save;But Oh! if this be endedYou're lost beyond the grave.

Great Author of compassion,Redeemer–Saviour–friend—Oh! send to every nationThe knowledge of its end;Fly! fly on ‘wings of morning,Ye who the truth can tell,And sound the awful warning,To rescue souls from hell.