My Days Are Gliding Swiftly By

My days are glid­ing swift­ly by;

And I

a pil­grim strang­er

Would not de­tain them as they fly

Those hours of toil and la­bor.

For

oh! we stand on Jor­dan’s strand;

Our friends are pass­ing ov­er;

And

just be­fore

the shin­ing shore

We may al­most dis­co­ver.

We’ll gird our loins

my breth­ren dear

Our dist­ant home dis­cern­ing:

Our wait­ing Lord has left us word

Let ev­ery lamp be burn­ing.

Should com­ing days be cold and dark

We need not cease our sing­ing:

That per­fect rest naught can mo­lest

Where gold­en harps are ring­ing.

Let sor­row’s rud­est tem­pest blow

Each cord on earth to sev­er:

Our king says

Come

and there’s our home

Forever

oh! for­ev­er.