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Attend, ye fair, ye thoughtless, and ye gay!
There low in dust the vain Hortensio lies,
Around me, as I turn'd my wand'ring eyes,
I he judgment day alone will make appear.
How silent is this little spot of ground! How melancholy looks each object round! Here man dissolv’d, in scatter'd ruin lies So fast asleep-as if no more to rise ; Tis strange to think, how these dead bones can live, Leap into form, and with new heat revive! Or how this trodden earth to life shall wake, Know its own place, its former figure take; But whence these doubts? when the last trumpet sounds, Chro' heav'n's expanse, to earth's remotest bounds, The dead shall quit these tenements of clay, And view again the long extinguish'd day; Cheer'd with this pleasing hope, I safely trust Ch' Almighty's pow'r to raise me from the dust; On his unfailing promises rely, Ind all the horrors of the grave defy; Death, where's thy sting? Grave, where's thy vic
Theer Almighty ng promiebe gray