1 Teach me the measure of my days, Thou maker of my frame; I would survey life's narrow space, And learn' how frail I am.
2 A span is all that we can boast, An inch or two of time; Man is but vanity and dust In all his flower and prime.
3 See the vain race of mortals move Like shadows o'er the plain; They rage and strive, desire and love, But all the noise is vain.
4 Some walk in honour's gaudy show, Some dig for golden ore, They toil for heirs, they know not who, And straight are seen no more.
5 What should I wish or wait for then From creatures, earth and dust? They make our expectations vain, And disappoint our trust.
6 Now I forbid my carnal hope, My fond desires recall; I give my mortal interest up, And make my God my all.