Henry Lyte
A few more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,
And we shall be with those that rest
Asleep within the tomb;
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that great day.
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.
A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,
And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more;
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that calm day.
A few more Sabbaths here
Shall cheer us on our way,
And we shall reach the endless rest,
Th’eternal Sabbath day;
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that sweet day.
‘Tis but a little while,
And He shall come again
Who died that we might live, Who lives
That we with Him may reign;
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that glad day.
