Sound an alarm, the Saviour cries,
On Zion's holy hill;
Soon the last trump will rend the skies,
And God's just wrath reveal.

Awake, ye thoughtless slaves of sin,
The awful summons hear!
And, from this favour'd hour, begin
For judgment to prepare.

When Jesus shakes the solid ground,
And bids the dead arise;
No hiding place will then be found
Through all the earth and skies.

Expos'd to everlasting shame,
His foes will all appear:
The guilty then must bear the blame
Of all their actions here.

Yet, how attend the gospel sound,
The Lord proclaims from heav'n,
" Of all that seek I will be found,
" Their sins shall be forgiv'n."

Fly then for shelter to his blood,
(He'll cast out none that come)
And in the paradise of God
You'll find a blissful home.