PoemHymn★★★★
Stoop down, my thoughts, that use to rise; Converse awhile with death ; Think how a gasping mortal lies, And pants away his breath. His quiv’ring lip hangs feebly down, His pulse is faint and few ; Then, speechless, with a doleful groan, He bids the world adieu. But oh, the soul that never dies! At once it leaves the clay ! Yet thoughts, pursue it where it flies, And track its wondrous way. Up to the courts, where angels dwell, — It mounts triumphant there; Or devils plunge it down to hell, In infinite despair.
— Watts
The point
A meditation on death's swift arrival and the immortal soul's eternal destiny—either heaven with angels or hell in despair.
Scripture
Hebrews 9:272 Corinthians 5:1-8Matthew 25:31-46
Audience
Adults
Tone
Solemn · Convicting · Awe-Struck
To tell aloud
under a minute · 96 words