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.
