L.M.
1
There is a day, ’tis hastening on,
When Zion’s God shall purge His floor;
His own elect shall then be known,
For He shall count those jewels o’er.
2
Nought but the grains of gospel gold
Will ever stand this trying day,
When like a scroll, together rolled,
The starry heavens shall pass away.
3
How stands the case, my soul, with thee?
For heaven are thy credentials clear?
Is Jesus’ blood thy only plea?
Is He thy great forerunner there?
4
Is thy proud heart subdued by grace
To seek salvation in His name?
There’s wisdom, power and righteousness,
All centring in the worthy Lamb.
5
Then thou may’st rest assured of this,
And lift thy favoured head with joy,
Thy hopes of heaven’s eternal bliss,
Earth, hell and sin shall ne’er destroy.
