| Time, with an unwearied hand,Pushes round the seasons past,
 And in life’s frail glass, the sand
 Sinks apace, not long to last:
 Many, well as you or I,
 Who last year assembled thus;
 In their silent graves now lie,
 Graves will open soon for us!
 Daily sin, and care, and strife,While the Lord prolongs our breath,
 Make it but a dying life,
 Or a kind of living death:
 Wretched they, and most forlorn,
 Who no better portion know;
 Better ne’er to have been born,
 Than to have our all below.
 When constrained to go alone,Leaving all you love behind;
 Entering on a world unknown,
 What will then support your mind?
 When the Lord His summons sends,
 Earthly comforts lose their power;
 Honors, riches, kindred, friends,
 Cannot cheer a dying hour.
 Happy souls who fear the LordTime is not too swift for you;
 When your Savior gives the word,
 Glad you’ll bid the world adieu:
 Then He’ll wipe away your tears,
 Near Himself appoint your place;
 Swifter fly, ye rolling years,
 Lord, we long to see Thy face.
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