A memorial volume of sacred poetry by the late Sir John Bowring. To which is prefixed, a memoir of the author, by Lady Bowring |
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Awake, Thou that sleepest.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
Awake, Thou that sleepest.
Wake, slumberer, wake! repent, repent!
Yet a few fleeting hours remain;
One day of mercy still is lent;
That day may never dawn again.
Yet a few fleeting hours remain;
One day of mercy still is lent;
That day may never dawn again.
O waste it not—'tis thine—'tis all—
All that remains of earth, or heaven;
Hark—how its flitting spirits call—
Seize—sanctify the moment given.
All that remains of earth, or heaven;
Hark—how its flitting spirits call—
Seize—sanctify the moment given.
Thou tread'st on tombs, thou breathest death,
The stars go out—the forests fade—
Destruction reigns above, beneath,
In noontide's beam, in midnight's shade.
The stars go out—the forests fade—
Destruction reigns above, beneath,
In noontide's beam, in midnight's shade.
Wake, slumberer! wake—the day that breaks
Twilight shall never dim—nor thou
Find aught but woe in all that makes
Thy miserable pleasures now.
Twilight shall never dim—nor thou
Find aught but woe in all that makes
Thy miserable pleasures now.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |