This life is like a flying dream,

Or like the vapor from the stream,

Or like the grass that grows to-day,

But fades away,

When winds across it roughly play.

Only Thyself, my God, art now

Just as Thou wert--my Refuge Thou--

Though rock and mountain be destroyed,

There is no void,

With Thy loved presence still enjoyed.

Thus sojourning in this low scene,

Upon my Saviour I would lean,

And learn as moments quickly fly,

Self to deny,

Dead to the world, before I die.

Vain joys, away! yea, spread your wings!

For I have tasted better things.

I seek a portion all divine,

Ever to shine;

Lord Jesus make me wholly Thine.