Text: | Hymn 61 |
Author: | Isaac Watts |
My soul, come meditate the day,
And think how near it stands,
When thou must quit this house of clay,
And fly to unknown lands.
[And you, mine eyes, look down and view
The hollow, gaping tomb;
This gloomy prison waits for you,
Whene'er the summons come.]
O could we die with those that die,
And place us in their stead,
Then would our spirits learn to fly,
And converse with the dead:
Then should we see the saints above
In their own glorious forms,
And wonder why our souls should love
To dwell with mortal worms.
[How we should scorn these clothes of flesh,
These fetters, and this load!
And long for ev'ning to undress,
That we may rest with God.]
We should almost forsake our clay
Before the summons come,
And pray and wish our souls away
To their eternal home.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | My soul, come meditate the day |
Title: | Hymn 61 |
Author: | Isaac Watts |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1806 |