Beneath our feet and o’er our head
Is eq­ual warn­ing giv­en;
Beneath us lie the count­less dead,
Above us is the Heav­en!

Their names are grav­en on the stone,
Their bones are in the clay;
And ere ano­th­er day is gone,
Ourselves may be as they.

Death rides on ev­ery pass­ing breeze,
He lurks in ev­ery flow­er;
Each sea­son has its own dis­ease,
Its per­il every hour!

Our eyes have seen the ro­sy light
Of youth’s soft cheek de­cay,
And fate des­cend in sud­den night
On man­hood’s mid­dle day.

Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Halt fee­bly toward the tomb,
And yet shall earth our hearts en­gage,
And dreams of days to come?

Turn, mor­tal, turn! thy dan­ger know;
Where’er thy feet can tread
The earth rings hol­low from be­low,
And warns thee of her dead!

Turn, Christ­ian, turn! thy soul ap­ply
To truths di­vine­ly giv’n;
The bones that un­der­neath thee lie
Shall live for hell or Heav’n!