Who rush on paths which conscience must condemn,
When death’s loud knock is at their dwellings heard,
Oh! fearful tidings must he bring to them.
The contrite, mourning o’er repented sin,
The meek in heart, whose treasure is above,
The faithful, who a heavenly crown would win—
To such his message is of peace and love.
He comes to tell them that their griefs are o’er,
That Christ from sin and sorrow sets them free;
Oh! when death’s knock is sounding at my door,