Hours and days and years and ag­es
Swift as mov­ing sha­dows flee;
As we scan life’s fleet­ing pag­es,
Naught en­dur­ing do we see:
On the paths our feet are wend­ing,
Footprints all will be ef­faced;
Present time to past is tend­ing,
Though its page is not erased.

They’ve de­part­ed who have borne us,
And we flour­ish on their graves;
Soon our child­ren will be­wail us,
Dropping off like fall­ing leaves;
Dust of life, which time doth ga­ther,
In the grave of death is stored;
Without Thee, Eter­nal Fa­ther,
What is man on earth, O Lord?

Yet though time doth all things con­quer,
It doth not our lot de­cide;
Thou alone, Eter­nal Fa­ther,
Dost for aye our Lord ab­ide.
And when dan­gers round us ga­ther,
They can­not our souls mo­lest;
In Thy Son Thou art our Father,
In Thy love our heart dost rest.

Speed along, then, years and ag­es,
With your glad­ness and your pain;
E’en when deep­est sor­row rag­es,
Faithful doth our God re­main;
Tho’ all earth­ly friends for­sake us,
Guided by His lov­ing hand,
To His heart we’ll aye be­take us,
Looking tow’rd our Fa­ther­land.