Even So, Come, Lord Jesus Poem by David Mitchell

The dead awake. The sleeping rise.
The fatal trumpet blasts the skies.
In dazzling white the Lord descends,
And all of his creation ends.

The quick and dead view him with fear,
As each thought, word, and deed, is clear;
No secrets undiscovered stay,
Nor space, nor worlds; nor time, nor day.

To heaven or hell each soul must fly -
Each body quakes; no eye is dry,
That sees the glory of the Lamb
Of God, great I AM THAT I AM.

The universe trembles in awe
And yields to its Creator's law;
The day has come, it is today
That all the worlds must melt away.

The King of Kings prepares to speak,
All turn towards him, all are weak;
Gabriel's call to wake the dead
Abruptly stops. All is mute dread.

'I came to save you from your crime;
To turn to Me I gave you time
Enough, and more; it is too late
For you to influence now your fate.'

All gaze at Jesus, terrified,
And none their fear of hell need hide,
Nor could they if they would do so,
For He would always all things know.

'Whose name is in the book I hold
(Unopen'd yet) is of the fold:
Whose name is not indited there
Must be condemn'd to grim Despair.'

Each soul at length found its last home,
From where it nevermore would roam;
Some to hell's lonely, fiery heat
And some to a joyful heaven and sweet.

Time rolls away. Use what is left
Before the universe is cleft
Asunder, then to nothingness;
Before your life swift time shall press:

There shall no matter soon exist:
All shall fade into murk and mist;
There shall be neither now nor here
When all becomes for ever clear.