While with ceaseless course the sun

Hasted through the former year,

Many souls their race have run,

Never more to meet us here.

Fixed in an eternal state,

They have done with all below,

We a little longer wait,

But how little, none can know.

2 As the wingéd arrow flies

Speedily the mark to find;

As the lightning from the skies

Darts, and leaves no trace behind—

Swiftly thus our fleeting days

Bear us down life’s rapid stream;

Upward, Lord, our spirits raise,

All below is but a dream.

3 Thanks for mercies past receive,

Pardon of our sins renew;

Teach us henceforth how to live,

With eternity in view;

Bless thy word to old and young,

Fill us with a Saviour’s love;

When our life’s short race is run,

May we dwell with thee above.