Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
Psalm 90:10
Words: E. H. Caylor, in The Brilliant, by William Giffe (Indianapolis, Indiana: 1874), page 9.
Music: Jonesboro (Giffe) William T. Giffe, 1874 (🔊 pdf nwc).
If you know Caylor’s full name, or where to get a good photo of him (head & shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels),
How sweet is life, yet soon ’tis past,
And all its pleasures gone;
The spirit to its God must haste;
The body to the tomb.
O, solemn thought, I too must die,
And to the tomb descend;
This cherished body, too, must lie—
Lo! with the dust to blend.
And can it be that I must stand
Before the bar of God?
And there my trembling soul defend,
Against His righteous word?
O precious Christ, to Thee I cling,
Upon Thy blood rely;
To Thee my soul at once I bring;
And at Thy feet I lie.
Saved by Thy grace, I shall be Thine,
And with Thee ever live;
And Heaven’s beauties shall be mine
While praise to Thee I’ll give.