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James Montgomery

The Measures of Time.

A child, a youth, a man,

The whole of life below!

Our time a breath, our course a span;

Whence come we? whither go?

Whence come we?--From the womb

Of dark eternity;

And thither go we, through the tomb,--

Behold a mystery!


For though with worms and dust

His mortal relics lie,

Death may not hold or harm the just;

The spirit cannot die.

On angels' wings afar,

'Tis, by a path unknown,

Beyond the range of sun or star,

Caught up before the throne:--

At rest in Paradise,

With Him in bliss to live,

Who bought it with so great a price,

Heaven could no higher give:--

Till at the trumpet's sound,

When soul and body meet,

They twain are one again, and found

In Christ, a saint complete.

By His good Spirit taught,

While train'd on earth, may we

Be thus by grace to glory brought,

And immortality.

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