The Swiftness of Time - Ingalls, Jeremiah

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"Words by Thomas Green, published 1780, entitled ''Soliloquy on the Eve of New Year's Day'', first line ''My days and weeks, and months and years'', with eleven stanzas. Ingalls uses a version in Smith and Sleeper's ''Divine Hymns or Spiritual Songs'', 1794, with ten stanzas."

⌛ Epoche → Klassik ◈ Genre → Sacred

♯ Tonart E minor

⁄ Taktart 4/4

♬ Besetzung → STB

◆ Difficulty

Anfänger

↕ Tonumfang B – f#''

♩ Tempo animato (120)

◷ Dauer ~27 sec

¶ Sprache → Englisch

Takte 14

Textur Homophon

Stimmen 4

Instrumente A cappella

Seiten 1

CPDL Nr. 44749

Bearbeiter Barry Johnston

Veröffentlicht 2017-05-29

Lizenz Gemeinfrei

♫Tonumfänge

Tr.

f#' – f#''

d#' – d#''

d# – f#'

B – b

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_May_2017 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_447xy

¶Liedtext

'''''Poems on Various Subjects, Chiefly Sacred, by the Late Mr. Thomas Green, of Ware, Hertfordshire''. 1780''' :''Soliloquy on the Eve of New Year's Day'' My days and weeks, and months and years, Fly rapid as the whirling spheres Around the steady pole; Time, like the tide, its motion keeps, Till I shall launch those boundless deeps Where endless ages roll. The grave is near the cradle seen, How swift the moments pass between, And whisper, as they fly, Unthinking man! remember this, Thou, 'midst thy sublunary bliss, Must gasp and groan and die. My soul, attend the solemn call, Thy crazy cottage soon will fall, And thou must take thy flight Above yon wide ethereal blue, To love and sing as angels do Or sink in endless night. Eternal bliss, or endless woe, Hangs on this inch of time below, This poor precarious breath: The God of nature only knows, Whether another year shall close, Ere l expire in death. Before the sun shall run its round, I may be buried under ground, And there in silence rot: Alas, one hour may close the scene, And ere twelve months shall intervene, My name be quite forgot. But will my soul be then extinct, And cease to live, or cease to think? It cannot, cannot be: Thou, my immortal, must not die! What wilt thou do, or whither fly, When death has set thee free? Will mercy then her arms extend? Will Jesus be thy guardian friend, And heaven thy dwelling place ? Or shall insulting fiends appear, To drag thee down to black despair, Beyond the reach of grace? Lord, at thy footstool I would bow, And humbly beg assistance now, To know my real state; While life and health and time endure, Fain would l make my heaven secure, Before it be too late. If in destruction's road I stray, Help me to choose that better way Which leads to joys on high; My soul renew, my sins forgive, Nor let me ever dare to live Such as I dare not die! But if thy grace hath changed my heart, Thy beams of comfort, Lord, impart, To gild my future days; Go on to bless; and let