by John Newton

“ We stand upon the brink of death When most we seem secure. If we today sweet peace possess, It soon may be withdrawn; Some change may plunge us in distress, Before tomorrow's dawn. Disease and pain invade our health And find an easy prey; And oft, when least expected, wealth Takes wings and flies away. A fever or a blow can shake Our wisdom's boasted rule; And of the brightest genius make A madman or a fool. The gourds, from which we look for fruit, Produce us only pain; A worm unseen attacks the root, And all our hopes are vain. I pity those who seek no more Than such a world can give ”

“ Wretched they are, and blind, and poor, And dying while they live. Since sin has filled the earth with woe, And creatures fade and die; Lord wean our hearts from things below, And fix our hopes on high. ”