L. MASON.

569

come,

To call Thy ransom'd 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 among them now,
Before Thy gracious feet 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?

Be thou my soul's sure hiding-place,

In this, th' accepted day;

Thy pard'ning voice, oh, let me hear,
To still my unbelieving fear;

Nor let me fall, I pray.

4 Let me among thy saints be found, Whene'er the archangel's trump shall sound,

And see Thy smiling face:

Then loudest of the crowd I'll sing, While heaven's resounding mansions ring With shouts to sov'reign grace.

Hark, from the gospel's gentle voice
What joyful tidings spread?

4 Ye sinners, seek His grace,
Whose wrath ye cannot bear;
Fly to the shelter of His Cross,
And find salvation there.

5 So shall that curse remove,

By which the Saviour bled; And the last awful day shall pour His blessings on your head.