Hymn No. 71
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.