Life seems but a sparkling river,
Flowing down the
steep of time,
Bearing trusting spirits ever,
To a happy, holy clime.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
Let us labor while we may;
Roses ’round each pathway strewing,
Treading softly all life’s way.
We have but a short probation,
Soon our labors will be o’er;
Soon from toil and sore temptation,
We shall rest forevermore!
Yes, the night of death steals o’er us,
Calling us from earth away;
And eternity before us,
Beams with light of endless day.
Cheering pilgrims, faint and weary,
And with tenderness and love;
Pointing thro’ earth’s darkness dreary,
To the glorious home above.