1 My flying years, time urges on;
What's mortal must decay;
My friends--my youth's companions gone,
Can I expect to stay?
2 Can I exemption please, when death
Projects his awful dart?
Can med'cine then prolong my breath?
Or virtue shield my heart?
3 Oh! no--then smooth, O Lord, the hour;
On thee my hope depends:
Support me with almighty pow'r,
While dust to dust descend.
4 Then shall my soul, O gracious God!
(While angels guard the way,)
With rapture haste to thine abode,
To dwell in endless day.
5 Thro' heaven, howe'er remote the bound,
Thy love I'll then proclaim:
And join the choir of saints that sound
Their great Redeemer's name.
|First Line:||My flying years, time urges on|
|Topic:||For the young and old; Old Age|