1 Oh! give me the flowers that never decay,
The treasures in heaven that pass not away!
All flow'rs in this valley of sorrow shall die,
And our riches make wings, and away from us fly.

2 Vain man, in the bloom of his health and his joys,
Clings fondly to earth and its perishing toys,
Forgetting that beauty will swiftly decay,
And that riches make wings and fly quickly away.

3 Go, buy thee new lands and enlarge thy estate,
And write thy proud name with the wealthy and great;
But if thou shalt fail of a treasure in heaven,
All thy wealth to the winds shall be rapidly given.

4 Go, enter the mart, where the merchant men meet;
Get rich, and retire to some rural retreat:
Ere happiness comes, comes the season to die;
Quickly then will thy riches all vanish and fly.

5 Go, sit with the mighty in purpose and gold;
Thy mansions be stately, thy treasures untold;
But soon shalt thou dwell in the damp house of clay,
While thy riches make wings to themselves, and away.

6 Oh! give me the flowers that droop not nor die!
A treasure up yonder!--a home in the sky!
Where beautiful things in their beauty still stay,
And where riches ne'er fly from the blessed away.