Classic Poem

I.

 Soon I must hear the solemn call
(Prepar'd or not) to yield my breath;
And this poor mortal frame must fall
 A helpless prey to cruel death.

II.

Then look; my soul, look forward now,
 And anchor safe beyond the flood;
Now to the Saviour's footstool, bow,
  And get a life secure in GOD .

III.

Before these fleeting hours are gone,
 I'll bid this mortal world adieu;
 And to the Lord I'll now resign
My life, my breath, and spirit too.

IV.

Then welcome death with all its force;
 No more I'll fear the gaping grave;
  Jesus my God, my last resource,
Will reach his arm my soul to save.

V.

 He will not hide his smiling face,
 Nor leave me in that trying hour;
 I'll trust my soul upon his grace
And chearful leave the mortal shore.