I remember vividly the evening ten years ago that we were sitting together at a service of worship at Minister s Week in Fort Worth Texas, an annual gathering of hundreds of preachers across the southwest. Bill and I hadn t seen each other in several years. We were delighted to get to spend some time together. We sat down, the service started, the organist began playing the first hymn, and on cue, as if orchestrated, we both pulled out our reading glasses. It was like we had rehearsed it, you see.
Youth gives way to maturity and maturity gives way to . . .
They hymn knows the reality of it. Time like an ever rolling stream soon bears us all away. And I had forgotten this line from the hymn we sang this morning. I didn t remember it until we sang it just a few minutes ago. We blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree and wither and perish but naught changes thee.