1 ’Tis He! ’Tis He! The Son of God!
He sends His awful voice abroad:
Let earth her Lord revere!
With thousand saints behold Him come;
The world before her judge is dumb,
And waits her doom to hear.

2 He calls to Heaven, He calls to earth;
The nations from their tombs come forth,
And throng before His face.
"Approach, ye, first," the Savior cries,
"Whose boast is in My sacrifice,
And covenant of grace."

3 "My people, hear! Your God will speak:
No empty rites and forms I seek,
No specious act or word:
Mine eye is on the heart within,
And there the service must begin
That satisfies the Lord."

4 "Where secret wickedness I see
The fawning lip or bending knee
But move My scorn and hate!"
Lord, on our souls this truth impress,
And make us all that we profess,
Ere yet it be too late!