Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 2025 Edition

Hail, ye sighing sons of sorrow,
Learn with me your certain doom;
Learn with me your fate tomorrow —
Dead, perhaps, laid in the tomb!
See all nature fading, dying —
Silent, all things seem to mourn;
Life from vegetation flying,
Calls to mind the mold’ring urn.

Oft the autumn tempest rising
Makes the lofty forest nod;
Scenes of nature, how surprising,
Read in nature, Nature’s God.
And our sov’reign sole Creator
Lives eternal in the sky,
While we mortals yield to nature,
Bloom awhile, then fade and die.

Fast my sun of life’s declining,
Soon ’twill set in dismal night;
But my hopes, pure and refining,
Rest in future life and light.
Cease then trembling, fearing, sighing:
Death will break the sullen gloom;
Soon my spirit, flutt’ring, flying,
Shall be borne beyond the tomb.