A few more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,
And we shall be with those that rest
Asleep within the tomb.

2 A few more suns shall set
O'er these dark hills of time,
And we shall be where suns are not,
A far serener clime.

3 A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,
And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more.

4 A few more struggles here,
A few more partings o'er,
A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more.

5 'Tis but a little while
And he shall come again,
Who died that we might live, who lives
That we with him may reign.

6 Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that great day;
Oh, wash me in thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

Horatius Bonar, 1856.