|
|
| |
|
Come, O my soul, look up and see
How swift the moments run!
Swift as the wheel of time whirls round
My closing day brings on.
Some busy hand, perhaps this hour
Is weaving fast my shroud;
Soon hoary winter will draw on,
And freeze life's vital flood.
Few clocks, for aught I know, may strike
Before my funeral knell,
Which, by its doleful, sounding tongue,
Shall my departure tell.
When the grim king of terrors calls,
May I triumphant stand;
And find my Saviour then my friend,
To guide me with his hand.
Then shall my spirit soar away
To heaven, and see his face;
And sing, with all the ransomed throng,
The wonders of his grace.
|
marker 99
|
LYRICS
|
Meter:
|
8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
|
|
Writer(s):
|
|
|
Trans/Adapted:
|
| |
Dates:
|
|
|
Bible Refs:
|
|
LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
|
Hymn/Song Book
|
Year
|
Song #
|
| 1815 | # 245 |
MUSIC
|
Name:
|
HOWARD
|
|
Meter:
|
8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
|
|
Writer(s):
|
|
|
Dates:
|
1825
|
LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
|
Hymn/Song Book
|
Song #
|
Key
|
| # 25 | Ab | | # 172 | G |
echo ' | ';
|
Hymn Writer
