The Rich Sinner Dying

Verse 1

In vain the wealthy mortals toil, And heap their shining dust in vain, Look down and scorn the humble poor, And boast their lofty hills of gain.

Verse 2

Their golden cordials cannot ease Their pained hearts or aching heads, Nor fright nor bribe approaching death From glitt'ring roofs and downy beds.

Verse 3

The ling'ring, the unwilling soul The dismal summons must obey, And bid a long, a sad farewell To the pale lump of lifeless clay.

Verse 4

Thence they are huddled to the grave, Where kings and slaves have equal thrones; Their bones without distinction lie Amongst the heap of meaner bones.