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1 To-morrow, Lord, is thine,
Lodg'd in thy sov'reign hand;
And if its sun arise and shine,
It shines by thy command.
2 Our moments fly pace,
Nor will a minute stay:
Just like a flood our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.
3 Well, if our days must fly,
We'll keep their end in sight;
We'll spend them all in wisdom's way,
And let them speed their flight.
4 They'll waft us sooner o'er
This life's tempestuous sea:
Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore
O blest eternity.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | To-morrow, Lord, is thine |
Meter: | S. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1814 |
Topic: | Death |
Notes: | St. 1 by Philip Doddridge, Sts. 2-4 by Isaac Watts, from "Lord, what a feeble piece" |