Thankless for Favors from on High

Thankless for fa­vors from on high

Man thinks he fades too soon:

Though ’tis his pri­vi­lege to die

Would he im­prove the boon.

But he

not wise enough to scan

His best con­cerns aright

Would glad­ly stretch life’s lit­tle span

To ag­es

if he might.

To ag­es in a world of pain

To ages

where he goes

Galled by af­flict­ion’s hea­vy chain

And hope­less of re­pose.

Strange fond­ness of the hu­man heart

Enamored of its harm!

Strange world

that costs it so much smart

And still has pow­er to charm.

Whence has the world her ma­gic pow­er?

Why deem we death a foe?

Recoil from wea­ry life’s last hour

And co­vet long­er woe?

The cause is con­science: con­science oft

Her tale of guilt re­news;

Her voice is ter­ri­ble

though soft

And dread of death en­sues.

Then

an­xious to be long­er spared

Man mourns his fleet­ing breath;

All ev­ils then seem light com­pared

With the ap­proach of death.

’Tis judg­ment shakes him: there’s the fear

That prompts his wish to stay;

He has in­curred a long ar­rear

And must des­pair to pay.

Pay! Follow Christ

and all is paid:

His death your peace en­sures;

Think on the grave where He was laid

And calm des­cend to yours.