Hail! ye sighing sons of sorrow,
Learn with me your certain doom;
Learn with me your fate tomorrow,
Dead perhaps laid in the tomb!
See all nature fading, dying!
Silent all things seem to pine;
Life from vegetation flying,
Calls to mind “the mould’ring vine.”
See! in yonder forest standing,
Lofty cedars, how they nod!
Scenes of nature how surprising
Read in nature nature’s God!
While the annual frosts are cropping
Leaves and tendrils from the trees,
So our friends are early drooping,
We are like to one of these.
Fast my sun of life’s declining,
Soon ’twill set in dismal night;
But in my hope, pure and refining,
Rest in future life and light.
Cease then trembling, fearing, sighing,
Death will break the sullen gloom,
Soon my spirit flutt’ring, flying,
Shall be borne beyond the tomb.