1 Thee we adore, eternal Name, And humbly own to thee, How feeble is our mortal frame! What dying worms are we!
2 [Our wasting lives grow shorter still As months and days increase; And every beating pulse we tell Leaves but the number less.
3 The year rolls round, and steals away The breath that first it gave; Whate'er we do, where'er we be, We're travelling to the grave.
4 Dangers stand thick thro' all the ground To push us to the tomb, And fierce diseases wait around To hurry mortals home.
5 Good God! on what a slender thread Hang everlasting things! Th' eternal states of all the dead Upon life's feeble strings.
6 Infinite joy or endless woe Attends on every breath; And yet how unconcern'd we go Upon the brink of death!
7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense To walk this dangerous road; And if our souls are hurried hence, May they be found with God!