Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

WHEN the fierce North-wind with his airy forces

Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury;

And the red lightning with a storm of hail comes

Rushing amain down;

How the poor sailors stand amazed and tremble,

While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet,

Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters

Quick to devour them.

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder

(If things eternal may be like these earthly),

Such the dire terror when the great Archangel

Shakes the creation;

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of Heaven,

Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes,

Sees the graves open, and the bones arising,

Flames all around them.

Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches!

Lively bright horror and amazing anguish

Stare thro’ their eyelids, while the living worm lies

Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,

And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the

Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance

Rolling afore him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver,

While devils push them to the pit wide-yawing

Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong

Down to the centre!

Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid

Doleful ideas!) come, arise to Jesus,

How He sits God-like! and the saints around Him

Throned, yet adoring!

O may I sit there when He comes triumphant,

Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory,

While our Hosannas all along the passage

Shout the Redeemer.