Time, with an
unwearied hand,
Pushes round the
seasons past,
And in life’s frail
glass, the sand
Sinks apace, not long
to last:
Many, well as you or
I,
Who last year
assembled thus;
In their silent graves
now lie,
Graves will open soon
for us!
Daily sin,
and care, and strife,
While the Lord
prolongs our breath,
Make it but a dying
life,
Or a kind of living
death:
Wretched they, and
most forlorn,
Who no better portion
know;
Better ne’er to have
been born,
Than to have our all
below.
When constrained to
go alone,
Leaving all you love
behind;
Entering on a world
unknown,
What will then support
your mind?
When the Lord His
summons sends,
Earthly comforts lose
their power;
Honors, riches,
kindred, friends,
Cannot cheer a dying
hour.
Happy souls who
fear the Lord
Time is not too swift
for you;
When your Savior gives
the word,
Glad you’ll bid the
world adieu:
Then He’ll wipe away
your tears,
Near Himself appoint
your place;
Swifter fly, ye
rolling years,
Lord, we long to see
Thy face.
