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Isaac Watts - Hymn 61
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A thought of death and glory.

My soul, come meditate the day,
And think how near it stands,
When thou must quit this house of clay,
And fly to unknown lands.

[And you, mine eyes, look down and view
The hollow, gaping tomb;
This gloomy prison waits for you,
Whene`er the summons come.]

O could we die with those that die,
And place us in their stead,
Then would our spirits learn to fly,
And converse with the dead:

Then should we see the saints above
In their own glorious forms,
And wonder why our souls should love
To dwell with mortal worms.

[How we should scorn these clothes of flesh,
These fetters, and this load!
And long for ev`ning to undress,
That we may rest with God.]

We should almost forsake our clay
Before the summons come,
And pray and wish our souls away
To their eternal home.
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