When on Zion’s hill we rest

In the mansions of the blest,

What a strange and fleeting dream

All life’s hopes and fears will seem?

What will all our pleasures here—

Titles—honours—then appear?

Like a bubble on the river,

Bright awhile—then lost for ever!

Things that now employ each thought,

Warmly wished for, fondly sought—

We may smile, and wonder much

Heirs of Heaven could stoop to such!

Will the petty wrongs of earth

Seem one moment’s anger worth;

Or a friend’s depart—the sorrow

Felt by those so soon to follow?