Hark! from the Tombs a Doleful Sound

Hark! from the tombs a dole­ful sound;

My ears

at­tend the cry;

“Ye liv­ing men

come view the ground

Where you must short­ly lie.

Princes

this clay must be your bed

In spite of all your tow­ers;

The tall

the wise

the rev­er­end head

Must lie as low as ours!

Great God! is this our cer­tain doom?

And are we still se­cure?

Still walk­ing down­ward to our tomb

And yet pre­pare no more?

Grant us the pow­ers of quick­en­ing grace

To fit our souls to fly

Then

when we drop this dy­ing flesh

We’ll rise above the sky.