The look of Death is both severe and mild,
And all the words of Death are grave and sweet;
He holds ajar the door of his retreat;
The hermitage of life, it may be styled;
He pardons sinners, cleanses the defiled,
And comfortably welcomes weary feet.
The look of Death is both severe and mild,
And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.
And you that have been loving pleasure wild,
Long known the sins and sorrows of the street,
Lift up your eyes and see, Death waits to greet,
As a kind parent a repentant child.
The bugle sounds the muster roll,
The blacksmith blows the roaring coal;
The look of Death is both severe and mild,
And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.