No, I Shall Envy Them No More

No

I shall en­vy them no more

Who grow pro­fane­ly great

Though they in­crease their gold­en store

And rise to won­drous height.

They taste of all the joys that grow

Upon this earth­ly clod!

Well

they may search the crea­ture through

For they have ne’er a God.

Shake off the thoughts of dy­ing too

And think your life your own;

But death comes hast­en­ing on to you

To mow your glo­ry down.

Yes

you must bow your state­ly head

Away your spir­it flies

And no kind an­gel near your bed

To bear it to the skies.

Go now

and boast of all your stores

And tell how bright you shine;

Your heaps of glit­ter­ing dust are yours

And my Re­deem­er’s mine.