O man, thou hast fallen to decay
And made thy body nothing but bones and dust.
Gone is heaven, gone is joy,
If thou hast become a toy,
Refuse to look upon His face holy, just,
Miss Sunday worship, forget to pray.
God’s word thy sinful lips doth n’er voice,
His bountiful mercy thy knees doth refuse,
To the ground thy eyes are cast,
More’n God thinkst thy mind thinkst fast,
Shunning holy work, thy able hands doth snooze,
Thy ears close to God; thinkst they have choice?
True, the Lord hath sent thy blood a cold,
Pressed thy forehead and cheeks with fevers quite black,
Plagued thy heart with thoughts of death,
Restrained thy lungs from deep breath,
Subjected thou to a long and weary track,
And caused time to make thou soon grow old.
Yet there is nothing like God’s true son,
Who teaches us to obey and serve the Lord.
Virtue, he says, will bring grace
To a bleak heart, a cold place.
For unto us strength, beauty, honor, God poured,
So we could see his sacred work done.
Man may not be the best avenue
To express the will of our heavenly king,
But we must needs try most hard
Or else from heaven be barred.
O, come let us go enjoy life’s simple things
And a high devoted life pursue.
Unto God above we must send praise
And recognize the power that is in Him,
Asking for forgiveness so
Under his love we may grow,
Perhaps restore our former goodness of limb,
And ultimately change our poor ways.