Though these frail eyes are dimmed with tears;
And though the hopes of earth be gone,
Yet are not ours the immortal years?
3 Father! forgive the heart that clings,
Thus trembling, to the things of time;
And bid the soul, on angel wings,
Ascend into a purer clime.
4 There shall no doubts disturb its trust,
No sorrows dim celestial love;
But these afflictions of the dust,