Teaching us how brief our stations,
How our glories must decay,
Pointing to the generations
Who have lived and passed away.
How our glories must decay,
Pointing to the generations
Who have lived and passed away.
So I'm sitting in the gloaming,
In the gloaming all alone;
While my phantom thoughts are roaming
Through the ages that have flown;
Musing here in solemn silence
By the landmarks on the shore,
How each moment bears us farther
From the great and good of yore.
In the gloaming all alone;
While my phantom thoughts are roaming
Through the ages that have flown;
Musing here in solemn silence
By the landmarks on the shore,
How each moment bears us farther
From the great and good of yore.
Farther from their grief and glory,
Nearer to the close of ours;
Farther from their song and story,
Nearer to our fading flowers;
For our feet are daily slipping,
Slipping from life's changing stage;
Making room for nations coming,
Nations of a later age.
Nearer to the close of ours;
Farther from their song and story,
Nearer to our fading flowers;
For our feet are daily slipping,
Slipping from life's changing stage;
Making room for nations coming,
Nations of a later age.
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