1 O world, I now must leave thee,
But little doth it grieve me,
I seek my native land;
True life I there inherit,
And here I yield my spirit
With joy to God's all-gracious hand.
2 So on His Word relying,
I know, while I am dying
I soon shall see His face,
Through Christ whose death hath bought me;
The Father's love He brought me,
And now prepares for me a place.
3 The grave hath lost its terrors,
Since for my sins and errors,
My Savior did atone:
My works can nought avail me,
But His work cannot fail me,
I rest in faith on Him alone.
4 And so I hence am going
In peace, full surely knowing
That now I shall have rest:
I feel death's icy finger;
My soul here cannot linger,
Nor would I stay--to go is best.
5 O world, I yet would teach thee
That death will surely reach thee;
Thou too must follow me;
Then ere God's grace forsake thee,
Repent! to Christ betake thee,
That God have mercy too on thee.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | O world, I must now leave thee |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1880 |
Topic: | Christian Life and Hope; The Consummation: Contemplation of Death |
Notes: | Author from Index: J. Hess— Winkworth; Hymn from the German Text: O Welt, ich muss dich lassen |