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Resurrection and Eternal Life.
Rivers to the ocean run,
Nor stay in all their course ; Fire ascending seeks the sun ;
Both speed them to their source: So my soul, derived from God, Pants to view His glorious face, Forward tends to His abode, To rest in His embrace.
Fly me Riches, fly me Cares, Whilst I that coast explore ;
Flattering world, with all thy snares, Solicit me no more !
Pilgrims fix not here their home ;
Strangers tarry but a night;
When the last dear morn is come, They'll rise to joyful light.
Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn ;
Press onward to the prize ; Soon our Saviour will return
Triumphant in the skies. Yet a season, and you know Happy entrance will be given, All our sorrows left below,
And earth exchanged for heaven.
Robert Seagrave. |
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