I con­stant care will take,
Lest sin­ful words they hear;
My lips their si­lence shall not break
While wick­ed men are near.

I dumb and si­lent stood,
No words of mine were heard;
I e’en re­frained from speak­ing good,
Till sor­row’s deeps were stirred.

My heart was all on fire,
With burn­ing thoughts sup­pressed;
My tongue was loosed, my soul’s de­sire
I then to God ad­dressed.

My end, Lord, make me know,
My days, how soon they fail;
And to my thought­ful spir­it show
How weak I am and frail.

To Thy eter­nal thought
My days are but a span;
To Thee my years ap­pear as naught,
A breath at best is man.

Man lives in emp­ty show,
His anx­ious care is vain,
He hoards his wealth, and does not know
Who shall poss­ess his gain.