Now in the heat of youthful blood

Remember your Creator God:

Behold, the months come hast'ning on,

When you shall say, "My joys are gone!"

Behold, the aged sinner goes,

Laden with guilt and heavy woes,

Down to the regions of the dead,

With endless curses on his head.

The dust returns to dust again;

The soul, in agonies of pain,

Ascends to God, not there to dwell,

But hears her doom, and sinks to hell.

Eternal King! I fear thy name;

Teach me to know how frail I am;

And when my soul must hence remove,

Give me a mansion in thy love.