1 Life is a span, a fleeting hour,
How soon the vapor flies!
Man is a tender, transient flower.
That e’en in blooming-dies. MIM 114.5
2 The once loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;
And nature weeps her comforts fled,
And withered all her joys. MIM 115.1
3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,
When what we now deplore
Shall rise in full, immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more. MIM 115.2
4 Cease, then, fond nature, cease thy tears-
Thy Savior dwells on high;
There everlasting Spring appears-
There joys shall never die. MIM 115.3