1 When thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come,
To call thy ransomed people home,
Shall I among them stand?
Shall such a worthless worm as I,
Who sometimes am afraid to die,
Be found at thy right hand?
Be found at thy right hand?

2 I love to meet among them now,
Before thy gracious throne to bow,
Though weakest of them all;
Nor can I bear the piercing thought,
To have my worthless name left out,
When thou for them shalt call?

3 Prevent, prevent it by thy grace!
Be thou, dear Lord, my hiding-place
In that expected day.
Thy pardoning voice, O let me hear,
To still each unbelieving fear,
Nor let me fall, I pray.

4 Let me among thy saints be found,
Whene'er the Archangel's trump shall sound,
To see thy smiling face;
Then joyfully thy praise I'll sing,
While heaven's resounding mansions ring
With shouts of endless grace.