Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

A FEW more years shall roll,

A few more seasons come,

And we shall be with those that rest

Asleep within the tomb:

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for Thy great day;

O 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;

O 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;

O 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 bright day;

O 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;

O 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;

O wash me in Thy precious Blood,

And take my sins away.

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