While life prolongs its precious light,
Mercy is found, and peace is giv’n;
But soon, ah soon, ap­proach­ing night
Shall blot out ev­ery hope of Hea­ven.

While God in­vites, how blest the day!
How sweet the Gos­pel’s charm­ing sound!
Come sin­ners, haste, O haste away,
While yet a par­don­ing God is found.

Soon, borne on time’s most ra­pid wing
Shall death com­mand you to the grave,
Before His bar your spir­its bring,
And none be found to hear or save.

And in that land of deep des­pair
No Sab­bath’s heav’n­ly light shall rise,
No God re­gard your bit­ter pray­er,
No Sav­ior call you to the skies.

No won­ders to the dead are shown,
The won­ders of re­deem­ing love;
No voice His glo­ri­ous truth makes known,
Nor sings the bliss of climes above.

Silence, and so­li­tude, and gloom,
In those for­get­ful realms ap­pear:
Deep sor­rows fill the dis­mal tomb,
And hope shall ne­ver en­ter there.