Young Christian's first lesson-book/Lesson Twenty One
LORD I confeſs thy ſentence juſt,
That ſinful man should turn to duſt.
That I e'er long ſhould yield my breath,
The captive of all conquering death.
Soon will the awful hour appear,
When I muſt quit my dwelling here;
Theſe active limbs, to worms a prey,
In the cold grave muſt waſte away;
Nor ſhall I ſhare in all that's done,
In this wide world, beneath the ſun.
To diſtant climes, and feats unknown,
My naked ſpirit muſt be gone;
To God its Maker muſt return,
And ever joy, or ever mourn.
No room for penitence and pray'r,
No farther preparation there
Can e'er be mace; the thought is vain,
My ſlate unalterable muſt remain.
Awake my ſoul, without delay,
That if God ſummons thee this day,
Thou cheerful at his call may'ſt riſe,
And ſpring to life beyond the ſkies!