Beneath the sun, all deeds done, meaningless are they.
Labor in vain, tormenting pain, incessant toil.
Chasing the wind, grasping for what's been, wearisome longings.
Ages now gone, time passes on, but the earth remains.

A time of birth, a time of death, perishing mortals.
Men are like grass, which soon doth pass, destined to die.
Houses of clay, doomed to decay, foundations of earth.
Men comes from dust, and to the dust, in death all return.

The Lord did mold, man's flesh and soul, a creation of soil.
But just as Man, from dust began, in death will face judgement.
But Christ was slain, bearing our pain, taking our sentence.
The Christ was dead, the blood He shed, absolves the guilty.

The hold of the grave, broken away, by the Risen Savior.
Prophecy fulfilled, His perfect will, providing eternal life.
Death is certain, for every man, but belief gains life.
He who believes, life he'll receive, even though he'll die.

From dust you came,
You must return.
Can death you esca