Hark! how time’s wide sound­ing bell
Strikes on each at­tent­ive ear!
Tolling loud the so­lemn knell
Of the late de­part­ed year:
Years, like mor­tals, wear away,
Have their birth, and dy­ing day;
Youthful spring, and win­try age,
Then to oth­ers quit the stage.

Sad ex­pe­ri­ence may re­late
What a year the last has been!
Crops of sor­row have been great,
From the fruit­ful seeds of sin:
Oh! what num­bers gay and blithe,
Fell by death’s un­spar­ing scythe?
While they thought the world their own,
Suddenly he mowed them down.

See how war, with dread­ful stride,
Marches at the Lord’s com­mand,
Spreading de­so­la­tion wide,
Through a once much-fa­vored land:
War, with heart and arms of steel,
Preys on thou­sands at a meal;
Daily drink­ing hu­man gore,
Still he thirsts, and calls for more.

If the God, whom we pro­voke,
Hither should His way di­rect;
What a sin-aveng­ing stroke
May a land, like this, ex­pect!
They who now se­cure­ly sleep,
Quickly then, would wake and weep;
And too late would learn to fear,
When they saw the dan­ger near.

You are safe, who know His love,
He will all His truth per­form;
To your souls a re­fuge prove
From the rage of ev­ery storm:
But we trem­ble for the youth;
Teach them, Lord, Thy sav­ing truth;
Join them to Thy faith­ful few,
Be to them a re­fuge too.