The Grass and Flow'Rs which Clothe the Field

I: The grass and flow'rs which clothe the field,
And look so green and gay,
Touch'd by the scythe, defenceless yield,
And fall and fade away.

II: Fit emblem of our mortal state!

Thus, in the Scripture glass,
The young, the strong, the wise, the great,
May see themselves but grass,
III: Ah! trust not to your fleeting breath,
Nor call your time your own;
Around you see the scythe of death
Is mowing thousands down.

IV: And you, who hitherto are spared,
Must shortly yield your lives;
Your wisdom is to be prepared
Before the stroke arrives.

V: The grass, when dead, revives no more;
You die to live again;
But oh! if death should prove the door
To everlasting pain!

VI: Lord, help us to obey thy call,
That from our sins set free,
When, like the grass, our bodies fall,
Our souls may spring to thee.