The Measures of Time

A child, a youth, a man,
The whole of life below!
Our time a breath, our course a span;
Whence come we? whither go?

Whence come we?--From the womb
Of dark eternity;
And thither go we, through the tomb,--
Behold a mystery!

For though with worms and dust
His mortal relics lie,
Death may not hold or harm the just;
The spirit cannot die.

On angels' wings afar,
'Tis, by a path unknown,
Beyond the range of sun or star,
Caught up before the throne:--

At rest in Paradise,
With Him in bliss to live,
Who bought it with so great a price,
Heaven could no higher give:--

Till at the trumpet's sound,
When soul and body meet,
They twain are one again, and found
In Christ, a saint complete.

By His good Spirit taught,
While train'd on earth, may we
Be thus by grace to glory brought,
And immortality.