Oh, breathe not to my soul the name
Of joys that bear the mark of earth;
What bond or likeness can they claim
With souls that have a heavenly birth?

Like snows, that melt beneath the sun,
Like flowers thrown heedless on the river,
They shine a moment, then are gone,
A moment here, then flown forever.

Oh no! We cannot stop for them;
Not joys, not crowns would suit us now;
We ask the thorny diadem
Which bound the Savior's bleeding brow.