Nothing into this world we brought,

And nothing can we take away;

Oft be the themes of earnest thought,

Man's birth, man's death, man's judgment-day.

For each belongs to each of us;

Time past, time present, time to be,

To young and old, determine thus

The issues of eternity,

All are born poor, howe'er unlike,

Their lot through life; and all go down

Poor to the dust:--the darts that strike

The slave, strike him who wears a crown,

That name which each on earth has borne,

Renown'd, inglorious, or obscure,

E'en from his gravestone shall be worn;

Nought under heaven can endure.

In the Lamb's book of life alone,

The everlasting page records,

In open view before the throne,

The names of those who are the Lord's.

When on the volume of that book

While small and great are gathered round,

The Judge of quick and dead shall look,

Be all our names unblotted found.