My days are gliding swiftly by
1
My days are gliding swiftly by,And I, a pilgrim stranger,Would not detain them as they fly—Those hours of toil and danger;
Chorus.
For O, we stand on Jordan's strand,And soon we'll all pass over;And just before, the shining shoreWe may almost discover.
2
We'll gird our loins, my brethren dear,Our distant home discerning;Our absent Lord has left us word,Let every lamp be burning.
3
Should coming days be cold and dark,We need not cease our singing;That perfect rest naught can molest,Where golden harps are ringing.
4
Let sorrow's rudest tempests blow,Each cord on earth to sever,Our King says, Come, and there's our home,Forever, O, forever!