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WHEN Thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come
   To fetch Thy ransomed people home,
    Shall I among them stand?
Shall such a worthless one 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 so far short I fall—
But can I bear the solemn thought,
What if my name should be left out,
    When Thou for them shalt call?
3  O Lord, prevent it by Thy grace;
Be Thou, dear Lord, my hiding-place,
    In this accepted day;
Thy pardoning voice, O let me hear!
To calm 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 that throng I’ll sing,
When Heaven’s resounding mansions ring
    With songs of sovereign grace.
Lady Huntingdon’s Hymnbook, 1774