A Funeral Thought

Verse 1

Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound! My ears attend the cry:-- Ye living men! come view the ground Where you must shortly lie.

Verse 2

Princes! this clay must be your bed, In spite of all your towers; The tall, the wise, the reverend head Must lie as low as ours.

Verse 3

Great God! is this our certain doom? And are we still secure? Still walking downward to our tomb, And yet prepare no more!

Verse 4

Grant us the powers of quickening grace To fit our souls to fly; Then, when we drop this dying flesh, We'll rise above the sky.