1 Death rides on every passing breeze,
And lurks on every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour!
2 Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay;
And fate descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.
3 Our eye have seen the steps of age
Halt feebly to the tomb;
And yet shall earth our heart engage,
And dreams of days to come?
4 Then, mortal, turn! thy danger know;
Where'er thy foot can tread,
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of our dead!
5 Turn, mortal, turn! thy soul apply
To truth divinely given:
The dead, who underneath thee lie,
Shall live for hell or heaven!
Source: The Book of Worship #414