L. M. *John Taylor. The Worth of Years. |
1 Like shadows gliding o'er the plain, Or clouds that roll successive on, Man's busy generations pass; And while we gaze, their forms are gone. 2 O Father, in whose mighty hand The boundless years and ages lie, Teach us Thy boon of life to prize, And use the moments as they fly; -- 3 To crowd the narrow span of life With wise designs and virtuous deeds; And so shall death but lead us on To nobler service that succeeds.
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