My Few Revolving Years

My few re­volv­ing years

How swift they glide away!

How short the term of life ap­pears—

When past

but as a day.

A dark and cloudy day

Clouded by grief and sin;

A host of ene­mies with­out

Distressing fears with­in.

Lord

through an­oth­er year

If Thou per­mit my stay

With di­li­gence may I pur­sue

The true and liv­ing way.