541. L. M. Doddridge. Meditation on Death.

1 Behold the path which mortals tread,
Down to the regions of the dead!
Nor will the fleeting moments stay,
Nor can we measure back our day.

2 Our kindred and our friends are gone;
Know, O my soul! this doom my own;
Feeble as theirs my mortal frame,
The same my way, my home the same.

3 Awake, my soul, thy way prepare,
And lose in this each mortal care;
With steady feet that path be trod,
Which, through the grave, conducts to God.

4 Father! to thee my all I trust;
And if thou call me down to dust,
I know thy voice, I bless thy hand,
And die in peace at thy command.