|Earth to earth, and dust to dust,|
Lord, we own the sentence just;
Head and tongue, and hand and heart,
All in guilt have borne their part;
Righteous is the common doom,
All must moulder in the tomb.
Like the seed in springtime sown,
Like the leaves in autumn strewn,
Low these goodly frames shall lie,
All our pomp and glory die;
Soon the Spoiler seeks his prey,
Soon he bears us all away.
Yet the seed upraised again,
Clothes with green the smiling plain;
Onward as the seasons move,
Leaves and blossoms deck the grove;
And shall we forgotten lie,
Lost for ever, when we die?
Lord, from Nature's gloomy night
Turn we to the Gospel's light;
Thou didst triumph over the grave,
Thou wilt all Thy people save;
Ransomed by Thy blood, the just
Over death gain the victory must.