My Days Are Gliding Swiftly By HymnMy days are gliding swiftly by; And I, a pilgrim stranger, Would not detain them as they fly, Those hours of toil and labor.
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For, oh! we stand on Jordan’s strand; Our friends are passing over; And, just before, the shining shore We may almost discover.
We’ll gird our loins, my brethren dear, Our distant home discerning: Our waiting Lord has left us word, Let ev’ry lamp be burning.
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Should coming days be cold and dark, We need not cease our singing: That perfect rest naught can molest, Where golden harps are ringing.
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Let sorrow’s rudest tempest blow, Each cord on earth to sever: Our King says, “Come,” and there’s our home, Forever, oh! forever.
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