1 Our days, alas! our mortal days Are short and wretched too; "Evil and few," the patriarch says, [1] And well the patriarch knew.
2 'Tis but at best a narrow bound That heaven allows to men, And pains and sins run thro' the round Of threescore years and ten.
3 Well, if ye must be sad and few, Run on, my days, in haste; Moments of sin, and months of woe, Ye cannot fly too fast.
4 Let heavenly love prepare my soul, And call her to the skies, Where years of long salvation roll, And glory never dies.
[1] Genesis 47:9.