GIVE ear to me, ye Sons of Men, Why stand ye gazing round my bed? You all must die, the Lord knows when, And be among the silent dead; Tho' now in health, you all must die, And turn to dust as well as I.

When from my Maker's hand I came, The seeds of death were in me sown, Which will dissolve this mortal frame, Soon as the bloom of life is blown; Behold me on a dying bed, Forget me not when I am dead.

The seeds of Grace have since been sown And deeply rooted in my soul, Which being ripe and fully grown, Now sweetly on the moments roll. Come, welcome, Death, and set me free, My Saviour's face I long to see.

Farewell my Father, fond and dear, I wish you well with all my heart; Farewell my Mother, fond and near, For you and I must shortly part; My Jesus calls and I must go, And leave all earthly things below.

Farewell my Brethern, young and old, Farewell my little Sisters too; My cheeks are pale, my hands are cold, And I must bid you all adieu; My days are spent, my race is run, Remember me when dead and gone.

Farewell my young Companions all, From death's arrest no age is free; Remember this fore-warning call, Prepare for death and follow me; The wife, the foolish, and the brave, Must try the cold and silent grave.

Farewell my neighbours, kind and free, The happy hour is hast'ning on, When you shall say concerning me, That Polly Goold is dead and gone. The like will soon be said of you, The ways of Virtue then pursue.

Adieu to all things here below, My Treasure is above the sky, My Saviour calls and I must go, And take possession bye and bye; Dear Jesus come, delay no more, I long to reach thy peaceful shore,

Now she is dead and cannot move, Her cheeks are like the fading rose; Which of us next must follow her, The Lord Almighty only know; But this you know as well as I, That we are mortals born to die.

Cease, my beloved, to complain, Her soul is born of heavenly birth, The dust returns to dust again, Her voice is heard no more on earth; But her immortal soul is gone, To put eternal glories on.

The great Creator wise and true, Has an undoubted right to reign, He made and lent her unto you, 'Till he shall call for her again; He has a right to take his own, O praise him for his blessed loan.

Remember this, you mourning friends, Your loss is her eternal gain, With her all sin and sorrow ends; The cease to murmur or complain, The weary soul is gone to rest, Where Sin and Satan can't molest

She was a blessing here below, A lovely kind and pleasing child, Her soul, now free from sin and woe, Shall serve its Maker undefil'd; Her sleeping in the grave shall rest, 'Till sun and moon their courses cease.

How sweet and pleasant was the sound That hasten'd from her mortal tongue; Now she is gone where joys abound, A song of nobler Praise is sung, Where peace and love and concord reigns, She sings in high angelick strains.

Rejoice, ye mourners here below, That she is gone to worlds above; Yet mourn your loss in parting to, For she was worthy of your love; Rejoice with grief and mourn with joy, Your tears refrain, your tongues employ.

Who can describe the joys of Heaven, Or comprehend the Lord of Host? May honour, might and praise be given To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; All Glory to the One in Three, And Three in One eternally.