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1 Hark! from the tombs 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 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 downward to the tomb,
And yet prepare no more!
4 Grant us the pow'r of quick'ning grace,
To fit our souls to fly:
Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound |
| Meter: | C. M. |
| Publication Date: | 1828 |
| Topic: | Death; The voice of the tomb |
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