Old-Line Primitive Baptist Hymn and Tune Book

813 (C.M.) Isaac Watts

Lord, where shall guilty souls retire,

Forgotten and unknown?

In hell they meet Thy dreadful fire,

In heav'n Thy glorious throne.

Should I suppress my vital breath

T'escape the wrath divine,

Thy voice would break the bars of death,

And make the grave resign.

If winged with beams of morning light

I fly beyond the west,

Thy hand, which must support my flight,

Would soon betray my rest.

If o'er my sins I think to draw

The curtains of the night,

Those flaming eyes that guard Thy law

Would turn the shades to light.

The beams of noon, the midnight hour,

Are both alike to Thee

Oh, may I ne'er provoke that pow'r

From which I cannot flee.