Olney Hymns (1840)/Book 2/Hymn 2

2.
Time how Short.

Time, with an unwearied hand,
Pushes round the seasons past;
And in life's frail glass the sand
Sinks apace, not long to last:
Many who, as you or I,
The last year assembled thus,
In their silent graves now lie:
Graves will open soon for us.

2 Daily sin and care and strife,
While the Lord prolongs our breath,
Make it but a dying life,
Or a kind of living death:
Wretched they and most forlorn,
Who no better portion know;
Better ne'er to have been born,
Than to have our all below.

3 When constrain'd to go alone,
Leaving all your love behind,
Ent'ring on a world unknown,
What will then support your mind?
When the Lord his summons sends,
Earthly comforts lose their power;
Honour, riches, kindred, friends,
Cannot cheer a dying hour.

4 Happy souls who fear the Lord!
Time is not too swift for you;
When your Saviour gives the word.
Glad you'll bid the world adieu:
Then he'll wipe away your tears,
Near himself appoint your place;
Swifter fly, ye rolling years,
Lord, we long to see thy face!