See! ano­th­er year is gone!
Quickly have the sea­sons passed!
This we en­ter now up­on
May to ma­ny prove our last:
Mercy hi­ther­to has spared,
But have mer­cies been im­proved?
Let us ask, am I pre­pared
Should I be this year re­moved?

Some we now no long­er see,
Who their mor­tal race have run;
Seemed as fair for life as we,
When the for­mer year be­gun;
Some, but who God on­ly knows,
Who are here as­sembled now,
Ere the pre­sent year shall close,
To the stroke of death must bow.

Life a field of bat­tle is,
Thousands fall with­in our view;
And the next death bolt that flies,
May be sent to me or you:
While we preach, and while we hear,
Help us, Lord, each one, to think,
Vast eter­ni­ty is near,
I am stand­ing on the brink.

If from guilt and sin set free,
By the know­ledge of Thy grace;
Welcome, then, the call will be
To de­part and see Thy face:
To Thy saints, while here be­low,
With new years, new mer­cies come;
But the hap­pi­est year they know
Is their last, which leads them home.