By Steve Brett
- A major
- Folk hymn
- Time signature
- David Nelson, 1835
My days are gliding swiftly by;
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly,
Those hours of toil and danger.
For, oh! we stand on Jordan’s strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And, just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.
Should coming days be cold and dark,
We need not cease our singing:
That perfect rest naught can molest,
Where golden harps are ringing.
Let sorrow’s rudest tempest blow,
Each chord on earth to sever:
Our King says come and there’s our home,
Forever, oh! forever.