We may write our names in albums,
We may trace them in the sand,
We may chisel them in marble
With a firm and skilful hand:
But the pages soon are sullied,
Soon each name will fade away,
Every monument will crumble,
Like all earthly hopes—decay.
But, dear friend, there is an album
Full of leaves of snowy white,
Where no name is ever written
But for ever pure and white.
In that book of life—God’s album, Written by the Saviour’s hand—
Is your name Forever entered?
With His loved ones will you stand?