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Rh Or worn by slowly-rolling years,

Or broke by sickness in a day,

The fading glory disappears,

The short-lived beauties die away.

Yet these, new rising from the tomb,

With lustre brighter far shall shine;

Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.

Let sickness blast, and death devour,

If heaven must recompense our pains

Perish the grass, and fade the flower,

If firm the word of God remains.

OME, let us anew Our journey pursue,

Roll round with the year,

And never stand still till the Master appear.

His adorable will Let us gladly fulfil,

And our talents improve,

By the patience of hope, and the labour of love

Our life is a dream; Our time, as a stream,

Glides swiftly away;

And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.

The arrow is flown; The moment is gone;

The millennial year

Rushes on to our view, and eternity's here.

O that each in the day Of his coming may say,

"I have fought my way through;

I have finish'd the work thou didst give me to do."

O that each from his Lord May receive the glad word,

"Well and faithfully done;

Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne."