Fly, ye seasons, fly still faster; Let the glorious day come on, When we shall behold our Master Seated on His heavenly throne; Then the Savior Shall descend to claim His own. What is earth with all its treasures, To the joy the Gospel brings? Well may we resign its pleasures, Jesus gives us better things; All His people Draw from Heaven’s eternal springs. But if here we taste of pleasure, What will Heaven itself afford? There our joy will know no measure; There we shall behold our Lord; There His people Shall obtain their bright reward. Fly, ye seasons, fly still faster; Swiftly bring the glorious day; Jesus, come, our Lord and Master! Come from Heaven without delay; Take Thy people, Take, O take us hence away! |