He Comes, He Comes! The Son of God

He comes

He comes! the Son of God

Descends from yon­der sky;

Bright clouds com­pose His lof­ty seat

And round Him an­gels fly.

Millions of mill­ions trem­bling stand

Before His aw­ful throne

Summoned a strict ac­count to give

Of works which they have done.

Oh then may all my fears sub­side

My sins and sor­rows end

And in the Judge may I be­hold

My Sav­ior and my friend.