5 Death like an overflowing stream Sweeps us away; our life's a dream; An empty tale; a morning flower Cut down and wither'd in an hour.
6 [Our age to seventy years is set; How short the term! how frail the state! And if to eighty we arrive, We rather sigh and groan than live.
7 But O how oft thy wrath appears, And cuts off our expected years! Thy wrath awakes our humble dread; We fear the power that strikes us dead.]
8 Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man; And kindly lengthen out our span, Till a wise care of piety Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.