I saw the wicked buried, who had come and gone from the place of the holy, and they were forgotten in the city where they had so done. Ecclesiastes 8:10
Words: Horatius Bonar, Hymns of Faith and Hope, second series (London: James Nisbet, 1861), pages 197–98.
If you know where to get a good photo of Heywood (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels),
Wrapt in a Christless shroud,
He sleeps the Christless sleep;
Above him, the eternal cloud,
Beneath, the fiery deep.
Laid in a Christless tomb,
There, bound with felon-chain,
He waits the terrors of his doom,
The judgment and the pain.
O Christless shroud, how cold,
How dark, O Christless tomb!
O grief that never can grow old,
O endless, hopeless doom!
O Christless sleep, how sad!
What waking shalt thou know?
For thee no star, no dawning glad,
Only the lasting woe!
To rocks and hills in vain
Shall be the sinner’s call;
O day of wrath, and death and pain,
The lost soul’s funeral!
O Christless soul, awake,
Ere thy last sleep begin!
O Christ, the sleeper’s slumbers break,
Burst Thou the bands of sin!