This life, a withering leaf,
Will one day rise to eternity;
So, why weep for fading things
When heaven is our destiny?
The withering grass, now fresh now dry;
The fleeting clouds that cover the sky;
These colors do change at the tick of time;
So, why be proud of a blot that'll die?
Yet, faders can't dim the hope within
That someday the sky will part for Him
Who'll come with strong celestial hosts
To take us home to be with Him.