|
When yesterday's meadows are green no more
But with time have faded and gone,
When across the sleeping golden fields
A soft blanket of white is drawn.
When the spinning lily of the field
Has ceased from its toil and strife,
'Tis but the return of wintertime,
But what of the winter of life?
From infancy's spring to summer's youth
Then manhood's all will appear;
'Tis but a few swift passing moments
And life's wintertime is here.
It brings its frost of worried looks,
Its imprint on each furrowed brow.
It hides away the keepsakes of life;
They seem to lose value now.
When the curtain of time is opened
And the drama of life is all o'er,
We'll stand in wondering awe
To see a play we've lived before.
We'll see the good and bad we've done,
The times we heeded God's voice,
The times we gave in or gave out
To make a worthwhile choice.
When life's winter time is all over
And the shadows and clouds are gone,
We'll be resting then within His palm,
While time goes marching on.
Up there we'll join our Saviour dear
To reap the seeds we've sown.
For death is God's foreclosure,
The last payment on His loan.
Up there, there'll be no debts or woes,
Nor is heard a mournful sound.
There'll be no wintertime up there,
For it's springtime all year 'round.
|
