Youth, like the spring, will soon be gone,
By fleeting time or conqu’ring death;
Your morning sun may set at noon,
And leave you ever in the dark.
Your sparkling eyes and blooming cheeks
Must wither like the blasted rose;
The coffin, earth, and winding sheet
Will soon your active limbs enclose.

Ye heedless ones who wildly stroll,
The grave will soon become your bed,
Where silence reigns and vapors roll,
In solemn darkness ’round your head.
Your friends will pass the lonesome place,
And with a sigh move slowly on,
Still gazing on the spires of grass
With which your graves are overgrown.

Ye blooming youth, this is the state
Of all who do thy grace refuse;
And soon with you ’twill be too late
The way of life and Christ to choose.
Come lay your carnal weapons by,
No longer fight against your God;
But with the gospel now comply,
And heav’n shall be your great reward.