The great Journey. Job xvi. 22

Behold the Path that Mortals tread Down to the Regions of the dead! Nor will the fleeting Moments stay, Nor can we measure back our Way.

Our Kindred and our Friends are gone; Know, O my Soul, this Doom thine own; Feeble as theirs my mortal Frame, The same my Way, my House the same.

From vital Air, from chearful Light, To the cold Grave's perpetual Night, From Scenes of Duty, Means of Grace, Must I to GOD'S Tribunal pass.

Important Journey! awful View! How great the Change! the Scenes how new The golden Gates of Heav'n display'd, Or Hell's fierce Flames, and gloomy Shade,

Awake, my Soul; thy Way prepare, And lose in this each mortal Care; With steady Feet that Path be trod, Which thro' the Grave conducts to GOD.

Jesus, to thee my ALL I trust: And if thou call me down to Dust I know thy Voice, I bless thy Hand, And dye in Smiles at thy Command.

What was my Terror, is my Joy; These Views my brightest Hopes employ To go, e'er many Years are o'er, Secure I shall return no more.