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Longing for a place at God’s right hand

Lady Huntingdon’s Col., 1774          8.8.6.

1
When thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come
 To take 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?

2
I love to meet among them now,
 Before thy gracious feet to bow,
 Though vilest of them all;
 But can I bear the piercing thought:
 What if my name should be left out,
 When thou for them shalt call?

3
Prevent, prevent it by thy grace;
 Be thou, dear Lord, my hiding-place,
 In this the accepted day;
 Thy pardoning voice, O let me hear,
 To still my 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 loudest of the crowd I’ll sing,
 While heaven’s resounding mansions ring
 With shouts of sovereign grace.