Mem’ry by the years made weak,
Proper wording now doth seek.
Hands once strong and firm to take
Upon my head tremble, shake.
Twisted frame, bent by life’s test
‘Gainst the bulwark leans to rest
Vision now dimmed by the years
Still the fount of precious tears
II.
What are these then, arrayed in white
Great tribulations made robes clean
Who serve their God both day and night
His throne amongst them clearly seen
III.
No hunger, thirst, nor any heat
No more a threat from sun scorched skies
The lamb leads them to fountains sweet
While God wipes tears from lifted eyes