As fair but as fleeting, as morning’s bright dew;
I long for the land whose blest promise alone
Is as changeless and sure as eternity’s throne.
3 I am weary of sighing o’er sorrows of earth,
O’er joy’s glowing visions, that fade at their birth,
O’er pangs of the loved, which we can not assuage,
O’er the blightings of youth, and the weakness of age.
4 I am weary of loving what passes away—
The sweetest and dearest, alas, may not stay!
I long for that land where those partings are o’er,