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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.
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