The Book of Worship ‎#413

413. My days, my weeks, my months, my years

1 My days, my weeks, my months, my years,
Fly rapid as the whirling spheres
Around the steady pole;
Time, like the tide, its motion keeps,
And I shall launch through endless deeps,
Where endless ages roll.

2 The grave is near the cradle seen,
How swift the moments pass between!
And whisper as they fly--
Unthinking man, remember this,
Thou, 'midst thy sublunary bliss,
Must groan, and gasp, and die!

3 But shall my soul be then extinct,
And cease to be, or cease to think?
Great God! it cannot be;
Thou, soul immortal! canst not die;
What wilt thou do, or whither fly,
When death shall set thee free?

4 My soul, attend the solemn call;
Thine earthly tents must quickly fall
And thou must take thy flight
Beyond the vast extensive blue,
To love and sing as angels do,
Or sink in endless night.

Text Information

• First Line: My days, my weeks, my months, my years
• Meter: C. P. M.
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1867
• Topic: Life: Its Brevity
• Notes: Now Public Domain.

Tune Information

(No tune information)