HYMN 56. (C. M.) The Misery of being without God in this World; or, vain Prosperity.
I
No, I shall envy them no more
Who grow profanely great,
Tho' they increase their golden store,
And rise to wondrous height.
II
They taste of all the joys that grow
Upon this earthly clod,
Well they may search the creature thro',
For they have ne'er a God.
III
Shake off the thoughts of dying too,
And think your life your own;
But death comes hastening on to you
To mow your glory down.
IV
Yes, you must bow your stately head,
Away your spirit flies,
And no kind angel near your bed
To bear it to the skies.
V
Go now, and boast of all your stores,
And tell how bright you shine;
Your heaps of glittering dust are yours,
And my Redeemer's mine.
