1 God of my life, look gently down, Behold the pains I feel; But I am dumb before thy throne, Nor dare dispute thy will.
2 Diseases are thy servants, Lord, They come at thy command; I'll not attempt a murmuring word Against thy chastening hand.
3 Yet I may plead with humble cries, Remove thy sharp rebukes; My strength consumes, my spirit dies Thro' thy repeated strokes.
4 Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand, We moulder to the dust; Our feeble powers can ne'er withstand, And all our beauty's lost.
5 [This mortal life decays apace, How soon the bubble's broke! Adam and all his numerous race Are vanity and smoke.]
6 I'm but a sojourner below, As all my fathers were, May I be well prepar'd to go When I the summons hear.
7 But if my life be spar'd awhile, Before my last remove, Thy praise shall be my business still, And I'll declare thy love.