1 The world is grown old, and her pleasures are past;
The world is grown old, and her form may not last;
The world is grown old, and trembles for fear;
For sorrows abound, and judgment is near!

2 The sun in the heaven is languid and pale,
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale;
The hearts of the nations all fail them for fear,
The world is grown old, and judgment is near!

3 The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer,
The world is grown old, and judgment is near!

4 The world is grown old, but should we complain?
We tried her and know that her promises are vain.
Our heart is in Heaven, our home is not here:
We look for our crown when judgment is near!