429.
Death of the Careless Walker.
1
Death comes to all, and now to one
Who oft has slept, and oft has run,
A weak, unequal pace;
Some enmity he felt to sin,
Some love to better things within,
A loiterer in his race.
2
But standing now on life's dread bound,
With anxious eye he gazes round;
The heedless hour is o'er!
He shrinks from Jordan, but, alas!
He must the stormy waters pass,
And tread the further shore!
3
He feels, with keen and shuddering pangs,
On what a thread his being hangs,
While bleak the tempest blows!
He needs the prop he cannot find,
The solace sweet, the whisper kind,
The peace that faith bestows!
4
What, for assurance would he give
That he might yet a season live,
Past follies to despise;—
That he might serve his God more true,
Nor sleep, as he was wont to do,
Regardless of his prize.
5
Death now appears with fearful glance!
The sable clouds of doubt advance!
Hope gives her feeblest rays!
If ever faith its radiance shed,
The light was faint, the faith was “dead!”
And now, the debt he pays!
6
The tree is falling! Lo! his breath
Bespeaks the near approach of death!
His spirit now is free!
The world he quits, with sky o'ercast,
And leaves it doubtful, to the last,
Where his abode will be!
7
Lord! send thine influence to our heart!
May we all act a wiser part,
Nor e'er thy precepts shun;
May we, in Christ, alone delight,
And, ere to time we close our sight,
Feel Heaven, on earth, begun.
