When Blooming Youth Is Snatched Away

When bloom­ing youth is snatched away

By death’s re­sist­less hand

Our hearts the mourn­ful trib­ute pay

Which pi­ty must de­mand.

While pi­ty prompts the ris­ing sigh

O may this truth

im­pressed

With aw­ful pow­er—I too must die—

Sink deep in ev­ery breast.

Let this vain world en­gage no more;

Behold the gap­ing tomb!

It bids us seize the pre­sent hour

Tomorrow

death may come.

The voice of this al­arm­ing scene

May ev­ery heart ob­ey

Nor be the heav’n­ly warn­ing vain

Which calls to watch and pray.

O let us fly

to Je­sus fly

Whose pow­er­ful arm can save;

Then shall our hopes as­cend on high

And tri­umph o’er the grave.

Great God

Thy sov­er­eign grace im­part

With cleans­ing

heal­ing pow­er;

This on­ly can pre­pare the heart

For death’s sur­pris­ing hour.