Ye Careless Sons Of Men Be Wise
Ye careless sons of men be wise!
Here view the corpse before your eyes;
The soul has left the house of clay,
And some where else she has her stay.
The world of spirits is her home,
There to remain till Christ shall come
To raise the body from the dust:
That of the wicked and the just.
The body laid into the tomb,
Has its remote and silent home;
Where darkness and destruction reign,
Till it is rais’d to life again.
But O, the soul that never dies,
Still waiting till the body rise;
Shall meet and join her former mate,
And share their everlasting ate.
How happy must such meeting be,
To meet the Saviour and to see:
That by her merits and his grace,
They find a better home and place.
But O, how gloomy is the thought!
To think that sinners must be brought
To stand and hear the Saviour say:
Depart from me, ye curs’d away.
Ye living then come take a view,
Remember ye are mortals too;
Seek ye the Lord and watch and pray!
Be ready for your dying day.