A Few More Years Shall Roll

A Few more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,
And we shall lie with them that rest
Asleep within the tomb.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that great day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more suns shall set
O’er these dark hills of time,
And we shall be where suns are not,—
A far serener clime.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that blest day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,
And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that calm day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more struggles here,
A few more partings o’er,
A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that blest day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more Sabbaths here
Shall cheer us on our way,
And we shall reach the endless rest,—
The eternal Sabbath-day.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that sweet day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

’Tis but a little while,
And He shall come again,
Who died that we might live,—who lives
That we with Him may reign.
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that glad day;
Oh, wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

Horatius Bonar