By Steve Brett

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Sunningdale. 8,7.

An A major folk hymn in 6/4 time. Composed 2018.

Text from David Nelson, 1835.

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My days are gliding swiftly by;
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly,
Those hours of toil and danger.

For, oh! we stand on Jordan’s strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And, just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.

Should coming days be cold and dark,
We need not cease our singing:
That perfect rest naught can molest,
Where golden harps are ringing.

Let sorrow’s rudest tempest blow,
Each chord on earth to sever:
Our King says come and there’s our home,
Forever, oh! forever.