2 [And you, mine eyes, look down and view
The hollow gaping tomb,
This gloomy prison waits for you
Whene'er the summons come.]
3 O could we die with those that die,
And place us in their stead,
Then would our spirits learn to fly,
And converse with the dead:
4 Then should we see the saints above
In their own glorious forms,
And wonder why our souls should love
To dwell with mortal worms.
5 [How we should scorn these clothes of flesh,
These fetters and this load!
And long for evening to undress,
That we may rest with God.]
6 We should almost forsake our clay
Before the summons come,
And pray, and wish our souls away
To their eternal home.
Hymn 2:62.
God the thunderer; or,
The last judgment and hell.*
1 Sing to the Lord, ye heavenly hosts,
And thou, O earth, adore,
Let death and hell thro' all their coasts,
Stand trembling at his power.
2 His sounding chariot shakes the sky,
He makes the clouds his throne,
There all his stores of lightning lie,
Till vengeance dart them down.
3 His nostrils breathe out fiery streams,
And from his awful tongue
A sovereign voice divides the flames,
And thunder roars along.
4 Think, O my soul, the dreadful day
When this incensed God
Shall rend the sky, and burn the sea,
And fling his wrath abroad.