Sickness prostrates; helpless sufferer,
Who can stem the sorrowing tide?
Oh! how vain, when death approacheth,
Earthly pleasures, wealth and price. PSAS 20.6
Though your name may be illustrious,
Handed down through ages yet,
Worldly honor and distinction,
We shall all ere long forget. PSAS 20.7
Weeping friends may stand around you,
Flattering prospects urge your stay;
But compelled by the destroyer,
To be launched from earth away. PSAS 21.1
Past reflections, oh! How painful,
If not answered life’s great end;
Time all spent in vain delusion,
Now no hope, no God, no friend. PSAS 21.2
Who can paint the bitter anguish,
Felt at such a time as this;
Soon to leave those cherished idols,
Purchased with unending bliss. PSAS 21.3
Though we gain the world, what profit,
If we lose our soul at last?
Buy the gold, the shining raiment,
Ere the day of grace is past. PSAS 21.4