On our span-long pilgrimage,

Youth, maturity, old age,

What is life?--a passing breath;

Time?--a step from birth to death,

On that step, that breath, that span,

Hang the destinies of man;

Not on this poor earth alone,

But through worlds unseen, unknown.

Here a paradise of bliss,

There a bottomless abyss,

At the saint's or sinner's feet,

Fraught with joys or terrors meet.

While we walk by faith below,

Grace direct the way we go,

Through thy gloom, Gethsemane!

O'er thy height, sad Calvary!

Thus in travelling from afar,

Be Christ's cross our leading star,

And His garden-grave our rest,

When life's sun goes down the west.

There in hope our dust be found,

When the years have fill'd their round,

Sown in weakness, raised with power,

In the new creation's hour.