Fly, Ye Hours

Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest:
Best are they that fleet the lightest!

Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest:

Best are they that fleet the lightest!
Man, be wise:
Thy earthly joys
Are poor, compared with those thou slightest.

The world we roam
Is not our home:
We seek a rest that aye remaineth.
Through weal or woe,
From all below
We haste to scenes where nothing paineth.

Fly, ye hours, &c.

It is not life,
This toil and strife:
These only serve from God to sever.
We hope to rise
Above the skies;
And there shall live, and live for ever.

Fly, ye hours, &c.

Can that be gain,
Whose charms detain
The soul from glory’s richer treasures?
Can that be woe,
That serves to throw
A brighter hue o’er coming pleasures?
Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest!
Thou that in the world delightest,
Rise, O rise
To nobler joys;
And taste the bliss which now thou slightest.

For Music

Henry Francis Lyte