How many ge­ne­ra­tions dead
Dwell in the dust on which we tread!
How many yet may spring to birth,
When we are seen no more on earth!

Till, of past, pre­sent and to come,
Time shall cast up the des­tined sum,
And, name by name, through that amount,
Call ev­ery soul to strict ac­count.

Where’er en­se­pul­chered they lie,
Each then must an­swer, Here am I!
And once, but once, all Ad­am’s race
Meet for a mo­ment face to face.

Then shall the King on ei­ther side,
As sheep from goats, the throng di­vide,
And those to bliss, and these to woe,
Rejoicing or la­ment­ing go.

How small to that as­sem­bly this!
Yet heirs like them of woe or bliss:
Were the last trum­pet now to sound,
With sheep or goats would we be found?

Guilty we plead, O Judge of all!
Guilty in­to Thine hands we fall;
The friend of sin­ners still art Thou;
Save or we per­ish, save us now!