Withering as grass is hu­man­kind,
And fleet­ing as the short lived flow­er;
The good­li­ness to­day we find
Tomorrow fades, and is no more.

Man, fool­ish man, his vir­tue shows,
Which for a m­oment charms our eyes;
The sin-con­vinc­ing Spir­it blows,
Withers the flow­er, and fades, and dies.

Die the gay flow­er of hu­man pride:
The Word of God shall stand se­cure;
The Word of God shall still abide,
And firm from age to age en­dure.

Sion, as­cend the mount­ain top,
Jerusalem, the grace pro­claim;
Herald of God, thy voice lift up,
And strong­ly shout the Sav­ior’s name.

Good tid­ings show to Ju­dah’s race,
Publish through­out the earth abroad
Good tid­ings of re­deem­ing grace,
And cry to all, Be­hold your God!

Behold, the Lord your God shall come,
And bow the world to His com­mand;
His out­stretched arm shall make Him room:
Who can His out­stretched arm with­stand?

Lo! an exc­eed­ing great re­ward,
Himself, to hum­bled souls He gives;
He fills whom first He has pre­pared,
And all in all for ev­er lives.

Shepherd of souls, His ten­der care
Shall kind­ly for His flock pro­vide;
The lambs He in His arms shall bear,
And sweet­ly in His bo­som hide.

His sheep He shall pro­tect, and feed,
Bind up the maimed, sup­port the weak;
The great with young shall gent­ly lead,
And seek the lost, and heal the sick.