1 Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound!
My ears attend the cry!
"Ye living men, come view the ground
"Where ye must shortly lie.

2 "Princes, this clay must be your bed,
"In spite of all your pow'rs;
"The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head
Must lie as low as ours."

3 Great God! is this our certain doom?
And are we still secure?
Still walking downwards to our tomb,
And yet prepare no more?

4 Then teach us, Lord, th' uncertain sum
Of our short days to mind;
That to true wisdom all our hearts
May ever be inclin'd.