Learn, oh my soul, what ’tis to die!
Th’event how so­lemn, and how nigh;
When ev­ery tongue shall si­lent be,
These eyes no pleas­ing ob­ject see.

The ac­tive limbs, the come­ly face,
Turned to a mass of rot­ten­ness;
The name for­got, the sub­stance gone,
No more ad­mired, no long­er known.

But thou, my soul, must then re­main,
In ev­er­last­ing joy or pain;
The bliss of Heav’n with an­gels share,
Or else be plunged in black des­pair.

Then be these so­lemn thoughts im­pressed,
With pow­er di­vine on ev­ery breast;
And ere ano­ther mo­ment pass,
Oh let us seek re­new­ing grace.

Quickly to Je­sus may we fly,
And on His right­eous­ness re­ly;
Lo, our eter­nal all’s at stake,
Awake, our slum­ber­ing souls, awake.