My former hopes are dead,

My terror now begins;

I feel, alas! that I am dead

In trespasses and sins.

Ah, whither shall I fly?

I hear the thunder roar

The law proclaims destruction nigh,

And vengeance at the door.

When I review my ways,

I dread impending doom;

But sure, a friendly whisper says,

“Flee from the wrath to come.”

I see, or think I see,

A glimm’ring from afar;

A beam of day that shines for me,

To save me from despair.

Fore–runner of the sun,

It marks the Pilgrim’s way;

I’ll gaze upon it while I run,

And watch the rising day.