525. C. M. Doddridge. |Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.|

1 These mortal joys, how soon they fade!
How swift they pass away!
The dying flower reclines its head,
The beauty of a day.

2 Soon are those earthly treasures lost,
We fondly call our own;
Scarce the possession can we boast,
When straight we find them gone.

3 But there are joys which cannot die,
With God laid up in store;
Treasures beyond the changing sky,
More bright than golden ore.

4 The seeds which piety and love
Have scattered here below,
In the fair, fertile fields above
To ample harvests grow.