Time With An Unwearied Hand

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 lord
time 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.