Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

He comes, He comes! to judge the world,
Aloud th’archangel cries,
While thunders roll from pole to pole,
And lightning cleave the skies;
Th’affrighted nations hear the sound,
And upward lift their eyes;
The slumb’ring tenants of the ground
In living armies rise.

Thou awful judge of quick and dead,
The watchful pow’r bestow,
So shall I to my ways take heed,
To all I speak or do.
If now Thou standest at the door,
Oh let me feel Thee near;
And make my peace with God,
Before I at Thy bar appear.