1 My thoughts on awful subjects roll, Damnation and the dead; What horrors seize the guilty soul Upon a dying bed!
2 Lingering about these mortal shores, She makes a long delay, Till like a flood with rapid force Death sweeps the wretch away.
3 Then swift and dreadful she descends Down to the fiery coast, Amongst abominable fiends, Herself a frightful ghost.
4 There endless crowds of sinners lie, And darkness makes their chains; Tortur'd with keen despair they cry, Yet wait for fiercer pains.
5 Not all their anguish and their blood For their old guilt atones, Nor the compassions of a God Shall hearken to their groans.
6 Amazing grace, that kept my breath, Nor bid my soul remove, Till I had learn'd my Saviour's death, And well insur'd his love!