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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