1 Though flowers of hope so early fade,
Though clouds my dearest prospects shade,
In youth's sweet morn health's rosy bloom
May leave me, fending to the tomb;
But shall vain murmurs therefore rise,
And sorrowing tears bedim these eyes,
That I am call'd so soon away
From earth and this frail house of clay?
2 'Tis true, the earth is still to me
As green as it was wont to be;
This life has not to me become
A hateful thing, or wearisome:
Still would I toil a while below,
If my great Master will'd it so;
Would live, his name to glory,
And then, in age, contented die.
3 But my short race is swiftly run,
At noonday fades my life's bright sun;
My labours are already past,
And long my sufferings cannot last;
'Til well:--some future danger lies
Conceal'd from these unseeing eyes,
And heaven, in mercy, calls me home,
To save me from the ill to come.
Source: The Minstrel of Zion: a book of religious songs, accompanied with appropriate music, chiefly original #64