William Cowper (1731–1800)

        My former hopes are fled,

        My terror now begins;

I feel, alass! that I am dead

        In trespasses and sins.

        Ah, whither shall I fly?

        I hear the thunder roar;

The law proclaims destruction nigh,

        And vengeance at the door.

        When I review my ways,

        I dread impending doom;

But sure, a friendly whisper says,

        „Flee from the wrath to come.”

        I see, or think I see,

        A glimm’ring from afar;

A beam of day that shines for me,

        To save me from despair.

        Fore-runner of the sun,

        It marks the Pilgrim’s way;

I’ll gaze upon it while I run,

        And watch the rising day.