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These mortal joys, how soon they fade!
How swift they pass away!
The dying flower reclines its head,
The beauty of a day.
The bags are rent, the treasure's lost,
We fondly called our own:
Scarce could we the possession boast,
When, lo! we found it gone.
But there are joys that cannot die,
With God laid up in store;
Treasure, beyond the changing sky,
Brighter than golden ore.
To that my rising heart aspires,
Secure to find its rest,
And glories in such wide desires,
Of all its wish possessed.
The seeds which piety and love
Have scattered here below,
In the fair, fertile fields above,
To ample harvests grow.
The mite my willing hands can give,
At Jesus' feet I lay;
Grace shall the humble gift receive,
And Heaven at large repay.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1899 | # 503 |
MUSIC
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Name:
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MELODY
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Dates:
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LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Song #
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Key
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| # 338 | A | | # 502 | Ab | | # 752 | A | | # 117 | A |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
