The Voice That Wakes the Dead

1 Thou Son of God, whose flaming eyes
Our inmost thoughts perceive,
Accept the evening sacrifice,
Which now to thee we give.

2 We bow before thy gracious throne,
And think ourselves sincere:
But shew us, Lord, is every one
Thy real worshiper?

3 Is here a soul who knows thee not,
Nor feels his want of thee?
A stranger to the blood, which bought
His pardon on the tree?

4 Convince him now of unbelief,
His desperate state explain:
And his fill his heart with sacred grief,
And penitential pain.

5 Speak with that voice, which wakes the dead,
And bid the sleeper rise,
And bid his guilty conscience dread
The death that never dies.

6 Extort the cry, what must be done
To save a wretch like me?
How shall a trembling sinner shun
That endless misery?

7 I must this instant now begin
Out of my sleep to wake;
And turn to God, and every sin
Continually forsake.

8 I must for faith incessant cry,
And wrestle, Lord, with thee:
I must be born again, or die
To all eternity.

Source: A Pocket Hymn Book: designed as a constant companion for the pious, collected from various authors (9th ed.) #HVII

• MIDI file from The Cyber Hymnal #6928