The watchmen blow the trumpet round, Come, listen to the solemn sound, And be assured there's danger nigh; How many are prepared to die? Your days on earth will soon be o'er And time to you return no more; Oh, think thou hast a soul to save; What are thy hopes beyond the grave? Come old and young; come, rich and poor; You'll all be called to stand before The God that made the earth and sea, And there proclaim His majesty. Will you remain quite unconcerned, While for your soul the watchmen mourn? They weep to think how you will stand With frightful ghosts at God's left hand. Oh mortals view the dream of life, And see how thousands end the strife, Who, though convinced do still delay Till death ensues and drags away; Will you, for fancied earthly toys, Deprive yourselves of heav'nly joys? And will the calls you have today Be slighted still and pass away? The trying scene will shortly come, Then you must hear your certain doom; And if you then go unprepared, You'll bear in mind the truths you've heard. Your sparkling eyes will then roll round, While death will bring you to the ground; The coffin, grave, and winding sheet Will hold your lifeless frame complete.