888. 7s. M. Newton. New Year's Day. 1 While, with ceaseless course, the sun Hasted through the former year, Many souls their race have run, Never more to meet us here: Fixed in an eternal state, They have done with all below: We a little longer wait, But how little none can know. 2 As the winged arrow flies, Speedily the mark to find; As the lightning from the skies Darts and leaves no trace behind; -- Swiftly thus our fleeting days Bear us down life's rapid stream: Upward, Lord, our spirits raise; All below is but a dream. 3 Thanks for mercies past receive; Pardon of our sins renew; Teach us, henceforth, how to live, With eternity in view; Bless thy word to old and young; Fill us with a Saviour's love; When our life's short race is run, May we dwell with thee above.
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