Passing Time

Behold, the clock is striking one;
Perhaps my work is almost done,
And will it bear inspection too,
By Him with whom I have to do?

Hark, now the clock is striking two,
Time's moving fast for me and you.
Our golden moments, how they fly
And whisper, O! Prepare to die.

Time passes on, the clock strikes three;
May this a warning be to me
That worldly pleasures pass away
And soon will come the judgment day.

The hand moves on, the clock strikes four,
The hour that's past we'll see no more.
Teach us our days to number so
That we in wisdom's ways may go.

The clock strikes five; oh don't you see
Time does not wait for you or me,
But hurries on with rapid pace
And bears us to our destined place.

The clock strikes six, the sun is low,
His beauties soon no more will show
Until the dawn of a new day,
How swift the time doth pass away.

The clock strikes seven; the day is closed;
Now comes the hour of sweet repose.
Upon our pillow rests our head,
Which is the emblem of the dead.

We watch the hands move on to eight,
We pray our hearts will hold no hate.
Believing in His love and grace,
We long with love to see His face.

Although we rest on bed of down,
The wheels of time still roll around.
The clock strikes nine; O! Turn your eye
And see how swift the moments fly.

Rest on, and take refreshment then,
For lo, the clock is striking ten,
And as it strikes, its tones express
You have on earth one hour or less.

Alarming though, is it eleven,
And is my soul prepared for Heaven?
The midnight hour will soon be here;
Who first will at its bar appear?

How soon twelve hours have passed away!
How swift the time, how short the stay
Of mortal man beneath the sun;
How soon our work on earth is done!

Author Unknown