Grief Despair and uttermost dread,
What shall become of my soul when I’m dead?
In glory it may be where the Lord can be seen,
Or in darkest of Hells where the company is mean.
Oh pray to the Lord thy soul to protect,
To purge thy black soul where sin he detect.
For the blood of our Lord does cleanse and make white,
The spirit that once was dark as the night.
Sing praises to Him when thy life doth look grim,
In trials so sore do sing Him an hymn.
Glory to God the Father of all,
Praise ye the Son who victory won.
Adore ye the Spirit so holy and just,
In the three that are one, now place all your trust.
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