Hymn No. 71

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Thou grim insatiate tyrant, Death,

THou dread destroyer of the breath

Which God to man has giv'n;

Rejoice no more, nor boast thy prey,

For thou must now, like man, obey

The firm decree of heav'n.

 

Long hast thou sway'd a tyrant's rod,

And with despoiling step hast trod

Over a prostrate world;

But, like thy spoil, thou soon must know

A greater pow'r can overthrow,

And from thy throne be hurl'd.

 

Down! down into the dark abyss!

While all the earth will bloom in bliss,

And own the Saviour's reign:

A thousand years to bow beneath

Thy weight of fetter'd chains, O Death!

Ere thou be free again.

 

But soon thy little season's o'er,

Thou wilt deceive the earth no more,

For now thy pow'r shall die;

Then will arise the wild farewell

Of sin subdued and conquered hell,

Through all eternity.