1 Hark! from the tomb a doleful sound!
My ears attend the cry;
"Ye living men, come view the ground,
"Where you must shortly lie.
2 "Princes, this clay must be your bed,
"In spite of all your pow'rs;
"The high, the wise, the rev'rend head,
"Must be as low as ours."
3 Great God! is this our certain doom?
And are we still secure?
Still walking downwards to our tomb,
And yet prepare no more?
4 Grant us the pow'rs of quick'ning grace,
To raise our souls on high;
That, when we drop this dying flesh,
We may ascend the sky!
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | Hark, from the tomb a doleful sound! |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1792 |
Topic: | Funeral |
Notes: | Public Domain. |