The withering grass, the fading flower,
Of earthly hopes are emblems true,
The glory of a passing hour.
3 But though earth’s fairest blossoms die,
And all beneath the skies is vain,
There is a brighter world on high,
Beyond the reach of care and pain.
4 Then let the hope of joys to come
Dispel our cares and chase our fears;
If God be ours, we’re traveling home,