Hour-Glass And Bible

Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass
  That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days,
  And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says,
  To every human heart: so mortals pass
  On to their dark and silent grave! Alas
  For man! an exile upon earth he strays,
  Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;
  To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass
  That withers at his feet!--Lift up thy head,
  Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;
  That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,
  Who died to give thee life; and though thy years
  Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,
  Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,
  And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led!