The poem
My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! 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 glimmering from afar; A beam of day, that shines for me, To save me from despair.
Forerunner of the sun, It marks the pilgrim's way; I'll gaze upon it while I run, And watch the rising day.