The Psalms of David ‎#II.XXVIII

II.XXVIII. Stoop down, my Tho'ts, that use to rise

1 Stoop down, my Tho'ts, that use to rise,
Converse awhile with Death;
Think how a gasping Mortal lies,
And pants away his Breath.

2 His quiv'ring Lip hangs feebly down,
His Pulses faint and few,
Then, speechless, with a doleful Groan,
He bids the World adieu.

3 But, O the Soul that never dies!
At once it leaves the Clay!
Ye Thoughts, pursue it where it flies,
And track its wond'rous Way.

4 Up to the Courts where Angels dwell,
It mounts triumphing there;
Or Devils plunge it down to Hell,
In infinite Despair.

5 And must my Body faint and die?
And must this Soul remove?
O! for some Guardian Angel nigh,
To bear it safe above!

6 Jesus, to thy dear faithful Hand
My naked Soul I trust,
And my Flesh waits for thy Command,
To drop into my Dust.

Text Information

• First Line: Stoop down, my Tho'ts, that use to rise
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1769
• Topic: Death And Eternity

Tune Information

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