CCCXII. Summer, or all flesh like grass

1 The grass and flow'rs, which clothe the field,
And look so green and gay;
Touch'd by the scythe, defenceless yield,
And fall, and fade away.

2 Fit emblem of our mortal state!
Thus in the scripture glass,
The young, the strong, the wise, the great,
May see themselves but grass.

3 Ah! trust not to your fleeting breath,
Nor call your time your own;
Around you see the scythe of death
Is mowing thousands down.

4 And you, who hitherto are spar'd,
Must shortly yield your lives;
Your wisdom is to be prepar'd,
Before the stroke arrives.

5 The grass, when dead, revives no more:
You die to live again;
Beware lest death should prove the door
To everlasting pain.

6 Lord, help us to obey thy call,
And all our sins remove,
That when like grass our bodies fall,
Our souls may rise above.

Text Information
First Line: The grass and flow'rs, which clothe the field
Title: Summer, or all flesh like grass
Meter: C. M.
Language: English
Publication Date: 1799
Scripture:
Topic: Man: His frailty; Summer
Tune Information
(No tune information)



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