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10.05.2026
My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly,
Those hours of toil and danger.We'll gird our loins, my brethren dear,
Our heav'nly home discerning;
Our absent Lord has left us word,
Let ev'ry lamp be burning.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, and forever,For now we stand on Jordan's strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And just before the shining shore
We may almost discover.For now I stand on Jordan's strand;
My friends are passing over;
And just before the shining shore
I may almost discover!