I. Awake, my soul, nor slumb'ring lie
Amid the gloomy haunts of death;
Perhaps the awful hour is nigh,
Commission'd for my parting breath.
II. That awful hour will soon appear,
Swift on the wings of time it flies,
When all that pains or pleases here,
Will vanish from my closing eyes.
III. Death calls my friends, my neighbors hence,
And none resist the fatal dart;
Continual warnings strike my sense,
And shall they fail to reach my heart?
IV. Shall gay amusements rise between,
When scenes of horror spread around?
Death's pointed arrows fly unseen,
But ah, how sure, how deep they wound!
V. Think, O my soul, how much depends
On the short period of a day;
Shall time, which heav'n in mercy lends,
Be negligently thrown away?
VI. Thy remnant minutes strive to use,
Awake! rouze ev'ry active pow'r!
And not in dreams and trifles lose
This little now! this precious hour!
VII. Lord of my life, inspire my heart
With heav'nly ardour, grace divine;
Nor let thy presence e'er depart,
For strength, and life, and death are thine.
VIII. O teach me the celestial skill,
Each awful warning to improve;
And while my days are short'ning still,
Prepare me for the joys above.
IX. Insure my nobler life on high,
Life, from a dying Saviour's blood!
Then tho' my minutes swiftly fly,
They bear me nearer to my God.
Source: Poems on Subjects Chiefly Devotional, Vol. 1 #151
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