Methinks the Last Great Day Is Come

Methinks the last great day is come

I seem to hear the trum­pet sound

Which shakes the earth

rends ev­ery tomb

And wakes the pri­son­ers un­der ground.

The migh­ty deep gives up her trust

Awed by the Judge’s high com­mand

The small and great now quit their dust

And round the dread tri­bun­al stand.

In vain the wick­ed strive to shun

The Judge’s quick and pierc­ing eye;

In vain to hills and mount­ains run

And to the rocks for shel­ter cry.

This bar im­par­tial will not know

Nor birth

nor rank

nor roy­al state;

Nor kings are high

nor beg­gars low

The good are here

the on­ly great.

Behold the aw­ful books dis­played

Big with th’im­port­ant fates of men

Each deed and word now pub­lic made

As wrote by Heav­en’s un­er­ring pen.

To ev­ery work the books as­sign

The joy­ous or the sad re­ward:

Sinners in vain la­ment and pine;

No pleas the Judge will here re­gard.

Lord

when these aw­ful leaves un­fold

May life’s fair book my works ap­prove:

There may I read my name en­rolled

And tri­umph in re­deem­ing love.