How many generations dead
Dwell in the dust on which we tread!
How many yet may spring to birth,
When we are seen no more on earth!
Till, of past, present and to come,
Time shall cast up the destined sum,
And, name by name, through that amount,
Call every unit to account.
Where'er ensepulchred they lie,
Each then must answer, "Here am I!"
And once, but once, all Adam's race
Meet for a moment face to face.
Then shall the King on either side,
As sheep from goats, the throng divide,
And those to bliss, and these to woe,
Rejoicing or lamenting go.
How small to that assembly this!
Yet heirs like them of woe or bliss:
Were the last trumpet now to sound,
On whether hand should we be found?
"Guilty" we plead, O Judge of all!
Guilty into Thine hands we fall;
The friend of sinners still art Thou;
Save or we perish, save us now!
Sacred Poems and Hymns