9
HYMN.
Oh! seize this hour, for day by day,
Death lies in ambush for his prey;
Fill it with virtuous toils and cares—
He spreads around his thousand snares.
Death lies in ambush for his prey;
Fill it with virtuous toils and cares—
He spreads around his thousand snares.
He lurks in summer's sickly breath,
The winter winds are winged with death,
And autumn, in her mellow stores,
Disease amidst her riches showers.
The winter winds are winged with death,
And autumn, in her mellow stores,
Disease amidst her riches showers.
But thou, in every season brave,
Walk calmly o'er that hidden grave,
For Christian duties, aims divine,
To thee make every season shine.
Walk calmly o'er that hidden grave,
For Christian duties, aims divine,
To thee make every season shine.
The summer's sickly air may bring
Disease and suffering on its wing,
But holy patience waits on thee,
To sweetly soothe thy misery,
Disease and suffering on its wing,
But holy patience waits on thee,
To sweetly soothe thy misery,
