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 proclaiming
His coming in the sky;
And earth's eventful story
A 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 pleasure
Are but an *empty name!*
Her Kings—her Crowns—her glory
Her Armies—Fleets—and pride,
May bubble forth her story
While floating down the tide.

The Ocean, Oh! the ocean,
To which *her* grandeurs tend
Now foams in dreadful motion,
Her boast and pomp to end.
See, see, the flames ascending,
The seas, themselves explode;
The clouds,–the skies, are rending
With 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 wiser
Than ‘*Pastors*’—‘*Saints*,’ and all;
Yet Sinner—Sceptic—miser—
Must suffer once for all.

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

Great Author of compassion,
Redeemer—Savior—friend—
Oh! send to every nation
The 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.*