MY DAYS ARE GLIDING SWIFTLY BY

My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly,
These hours of toil and danger.

We'll gird our loins, my brethren dear,
Our distant home discerning;
Our absent Lord has left us word,
Let every lamp be burning.

Should coming days be cold and dark,
We need not cease our singing;
That perfect rest nought can molest,
Where golden harps are ringing.

Let sorrow's rudest tempest blow,
Each cord on earth to sever;
Our Lord says, Come, and there's our home
For ever and for ever!

[chorus]
For O we stand on Jordan's strand,
Our friends are passing over,
And just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.

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