1 Why do the proud insult the poor,
And boast the large estates they have!
How vain are riches to secure
Their haughty owners from the grave!
2 They can’t redeem one hour from death
With all the wealth in which they trust;
Nor give a dying brother breath,
When God commands him down to dust.
3 There the dark earth and dismal shade
Shall clasp their naked bodies round;
That flesh so delicately fed,
Lies cold, and molders in the ground.
4 Like thoughtless sheep the sinner dies,
And leaves his glories in the tomb;
The saints shall in the morning rise,
And find th’oppressor's awful doom.
5 His honours perish in the dust,
And pomp and beauty, birth and blood;
That glorious day exalts the just
To full dominion o’er the proud.
6 My Saviour shall my life restore
And raise me from my dark abode;
My flesh and soul shall part no more,
But dwell for ever near my God.
Source: Church Hymn Book: consisting of newly composed hymns with the addition of hymns and psalms, from other authors, carefully adapted for the use of public worship, and many other occasions (1st ed.) #P.XLIX