ALL the time my soul is calling, "Whither, whither do I go?" For my days like leaves are falling From my tree of life below. Who will come and be my lover! Who is strong enough to save, When that I am leaning over The dark silence of the grave? Wherefore should my soul be calling, "Whither, whither do I go?" For my days like leaves are falling In the hand of God, I know. As the seasons touch their ending, As the dim years fade and flee, Let me rather still be sending Some good deed to plead for me. Then, though none should stay to weep me, Lover-like, within the shade, He will hold me, He will keep me, And I will not be afraid. |