Stoop Down, My Thoughts, That Use to Rise

Verse 1

Stoop down, my thoughts, that use to rise,
Converse awhile with death:
Think how a gasping mortal lies,
And pants away his breath.

Verse 2

His quivering lip hangs feebly down
His pulses faint and few,
Then, speechless, with a doleful groan
He bids the world adieu.

Verse 3

But, O the soul that never dies!
At once it leaves the clay!
Ye thoughts, pursue it where it flies,
And track its wondrous way.

Verse 4

Up to the courts where angels dwell,
It mounts triumphing there,
Or devils plunge it down to hell
In infinite despair.

Verse 5

And must my body faint and die?
And must this soul remove?
O for some guardian angel nigh
To bear it safe above!

Verse 6

Jesus, to thy dear faithful hand
My naked soul I trust,
And my flesh waits for thy command
To drop into my dust.