Life is the time to serve the Lord,
The time to ensure the great re­ward;
And while the lamp holds out to burn,
The vil­est sin­ner may re­turn.

Life is the hour that God has giv­en
To ’scape from hell and fly to Heav’n;
The day of grace, and mor­tals may
Secure the bless­ings of the day.

The liv­ing know that they must die,
But all the dead for­got­ten lie;
Their me­mo­ry and their sense is gone,
Alike un­know­ing and un­known.

Their hatred and their love is lost,
Their en­vy is bur­ied in the dust;
They have no share in all that’s done
Beneath the cir­cuit of the sun.

Then what my thoughts de­sign to do,
My hands, with all your might pur­sue;
Since no de­vice nor work is found,
Nor faith, nor hope, be­neath the ground.

There are no acts of par­don passed
In the cold grave, to which we haste;
But dark­ness, death, and long des­pair,
Reign in eter­nal si­lence there.