The rich and poor to­ge­ther meet,
In death, and at the mer­cy seat;
Then why should a dis­tinct­ion be
Made here, by worms so vile as we?

It is not wealth, or rank, or might,
Lord! makes a dif­fer­ence in Thy sight;
But who has most Thy gifts of grace,
He holds with Thee the high­est place.

Thou art the Mak­er of us all,
Both rich and poor, and great and small;
And all we are, and all we own,
Comes but from Thee, and Thee alone!

All com­mon chil­dren of one God,
All jour­ney­ing home, the self-same road,
All born to death, we dai­ly die,
And all up­on one hope re­ly!

With but one sac­ri­fice to plead,
One Sav­ior God to in­ter­cede,
One bar, at which all must ap­pear,
Why should we be dis­se­vered here?

The gild­ed glo­ry of to­day,
Tomorrow droops, and fades away;
And youth, and pride, and vi­sions high,
Live but to blos­som and to die!

The cot­tage serf, and crown­èd head,
Must both lie in one com­mon bed,
And lose all dif­fer­ence of birth
When ga­thered to their com­mon earth.

He on­ly who can trace from high
His pa­tent of no­bi­li­ty,
Sealed with the blood of Him, who gave
His life as ran­som for the slave,

He on­ly, in that aw­ful day
When Heav’n and earth shall pass away,
Can feel, up­on God’s word se­cure,
That his in­he­rit­ance is sure.

Lord! if Thy hand hath placed me low,
Make me con­tent­ed to be so!
But oh! if it hath raised me high,
Vouchsafe me Christ’s hu­mi­li­ty!