s come
To hear his justice and the sinners doom:
But gather first my saints (the Judge commands)
Bring them, ye angels, from their distant lands.

3 Behold! my covenant stands for ever good,
Seal'd by the eternal sacrifice in blood,
And sign'd with all their names; the Greek, the Jew,
That paid the ancient worship or the new.
There's no distinction here: come spread their thrones,
And near me seat my favorites and my sons.

4 I their almighty Saviour and their God,
I am their Judge: ye heavens, proclaim abroad
My just eternal sentence, and declare
Those awful truths that sinners dread to hear:
Sinners in Zion, tremble and retire;
I doom the painted hypocrite to fire.

5 Not for the want of goats or bullocks slain
Do I condemn thee; bulls and goats are vain
Without the flames of love: in vain the store
Of brutal offerings that were mine before;
Mine are the tamer beasts and savage breed,
Flocks, herds, and fields, and forests where they feed.

6 If I were hungry would I ask thee food?
When did I thirst, or drink thy bullocks blood?
Can I be flatter'd with thy cringing bows,
Thy solemn chatterings and fantastic vows?
Are my eyes charm'd thy vestments to behold,
Glaring in gems, and gay in woven gold?

7 Unthinking wretch! how couldst thou hope to please
A God, a spirit, with such toys as these?
While with my grace and statutes on thy tongue,
Thou lov'st deceit, and dost thy brother wrong;
In vain to pious forms thy zeal pretends,
Thieves and adulterers are thy chosen friends.

8 Silent I waited with lone-suffering love,
But didst thou hope that I should ne'er reprove?
And cherish such an impious thought within,
That God the righteous would indulge thy sin?
Behold my terrors now: my thunders roll,
And thy own crimes affright thy guilty soul.

9 Sinners, awake betimes; ye fools, be wise;
Awake, before this dreadful morning rise;
Change your vain thoughts, your crooked works amend,
Fly to the Saviour, make the Judge your friend;
Lest like a lion his last vengeance tear
Your trembling souls, and no deliverer near.

Psalm 50:6. To the old proper Tune.
The last judgment.

1 The God of glory sends his summons forth,
Calls the south nations, and awakes the north;
From east to west the sov'reign orders spread,
Thro' distant worlds, and regions of the dead:
The trumpet sounds; hell trembles; heaven rejoices;
Lift up your heads, ye saints, with cheerful voices.

2 No more shall atheists mock his long del