2 Nipp'd by the wind's unkindly blast, Parch'd by the sun's directer ray, The momentary glories waste; The short-lived beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine, When youth its pride and beauty shows; Fairer than spring the colours shine, And sweeter than the op'ning rose. 4 Or worn by slowly rolling years, Or broke by sickness in a day, The fading glory disappears, The short-lived beauties die away.
5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb, With lustre brighter far shall shine, Revive with ever-during bloom, Safe from diseases and decline.
6 Though sickness blast, and death devour, Yet heaven will recompense our pains; The grass may fade, and droop the flower, But firm the word of God remains.
1 Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound; Mine ears attend the cry,
Ye living men, come view the ground, Where you must shortly lie.
2Princes, this clay must be your bed, In spite of all your towers;
The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head, Must lie 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 powers of quick'ning grace, To fit our souls to fly; Then, when we drop this dying flesh, We'll rise above the sky.
1 Here busy life, here pleasure ends, And tie of blood and tie of friends. Here ends probation's hour, and here Virtue's hard strife with sin and care.
2 Why for vain riches do I toil, Gath'ring for death a larger spoil? Why for this dying flesh purvey, The sinful pleasures of a day?
3 Why cling so closely to my heart Kindred and friends? we soon must part! And wherefore do I waste the span Of mercy limited to man?
4 The pious few O let me join, And with their faith my breath resign; That their hereafter, mine may be, Ev'n mine their blest eternity.
HYMN CCLXXX. C. M. Peace of the grave.
1 How still and peaceful is the grave, Where, life's vain tumults past,
Th' appointed house, by heaven's decree, Receives us all at last!
2 The wicked there from troubling cease; There, passions rage no more; And there the weary pilgrim rests From all the toils he bore.
3 There rest the pris'ners, now releas'd From slavery's sad abode;
No more they hear th' oppressor's voice, Or dread the tyrant's rod.
4 There, servants, masters, small and great, Partake the same repose;
And there, in peace, the ashes mix Of those who once were foes.
5 All, levell'd by the hand of death, Lie sleeping in the tomb;
Till God in judgment call them forth To meet their righteous doom.
1 Life is a span, a fleeting hour, How soon the vapour flies! Man is a tender, transient flower, That ev'n in blooming dies!
2 The once lov'd form, now cold and dead, Each mournful thought employs; And nature weeps her comforts fled, And wither'd all her joys.
3 But wait the interposing gloom, And lo! stern winter flies! And drest in beauty's fairest bloom, The flowery tribes arise.
4 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time; When what we now deplore, Shall rise in full immortal prime, And bloom to fade no more.
5 Then cease, fond nature, cease thy tears, Religion points on high;
There everlasting spring appears, And joys that cannot die.
1 When blooming youth is snatch'd away By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay, Which sorrow must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh, O may this truth, impress'd With awful power,-1 too must die,- Sink deep in every breast!
3 Let this vain world delude no more; Behold the op'ning tomb; It bids us seize the present hour; To-morrow, death may come.
4 The voice of this alarming scene May every heart obey;
Nor be the heavenly warning vain, Which calls to watch and pray.
HYMN CCLXXXIII. S. M.
Reflections on the state of our fathers.
1 How swift the torrent rolls, That bears us to the sea!
The tide that bears our thoughtless souls To vast eternity!
2 Our fathers, where are they, With all they call'd their own? Their joys and griefs, and hopes and cares, And wealth and honour-gone.
3 There, where the fathers lie, Must all the children dwell;
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