When thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come

To take thy ransomed people home,

Shall I among them stand?

Shall such a worthless worm as I,

Who sometimes am afraid to die,

Be found at thy right hand?

2 I love to meet thy people now,

Before thy feet with them to bow,

Though vilest of them all;

But—can I bear the piercing thought—

What if my name should be left out

When thou for them shalt call?

3 O Lord, prevent it by thy grace:

Be thou my only hiding-place,

In this, the accepted day;

Thy pardoning voice, O, let me hear,

To still my unbelieving fear,

Nor let me fall, I pray.

4 And when the final trump shall sound,

Among thy saints let me be found,

To bow before thy face;

Then in triumphant strains I’ll sing,

While heaven’s resounding mansions ring

With praise of sovereign grace.