On every side a voice I hear
That louder speaketh year by year,
A voice I dare not lightly treat,
Prepare, prepare thy God to meet.

The falling leaf, the fading flower,
The sinking sun at evening’s hour
All ev­er­more to me repeat,
Prepare, prepare thy God to meet.

The funeral train, the tolling bell,
The grave, where, dying, I must dwell,
My aching heart speaks with each beat,
Prepare, prepare thy God to meet.

Where’er I turn, whate’er I do,
This warning message thrills me thro’,
In silent hall, or noisy street,
Prepare, prepare thy God to meet.