The Swift-Declining Day

The swift de­clin­ing day

How fast its mo­ments fly!

While even­ing’s broad and gloomy shade

Gains on the west­ern sky.

Ye mor­tals

mark its pace

And use the hours of light;

And know its Mak­er can com­mand

An in­stan­tan­eous night.

His Word blots out the sun

In its me­ri­di­an blaze;

And cuts from smil­ing

vig­or­ous youth

The rem­nant of its days.

On dark’n­ing moun­tain brow

Your feet shall quick­ly slide;

And from its airy sum­mit dash

Your mo­ment­ary pride.

Give glo­ry to the Lord

Who rules the whirl­ing sphere;

Submissive at His foot­stool bow

And seek sal­va­tion there.

Then shall new lus­ter break

Thro’ hor­ror’s dark­est gloom

And lead you to un­chang­ing light

In your ce­les­tial home.