Lord, if Thine eyes sur­vey our faults,
And jus­tice grows severe,
Thy dread­ful wrath ex­ceeds our thoughts,
And burns be­yond our fear.

Thine an­ger turns our frame to dust;
By one of­fense to Thee
Adam with all his sons have lost
Their im­mor­tal­ity.

Life like a vain am­use­ment flies,
A fa­ble or a song;
By swift de­grees our na­ture dies,
Nor can our joys be long.

’Tis but a few whose days amount
To three­score years and ten;
And all be­yond that short ac­count
Is sor­row, toil, and pain.

Our vi­tals with la­bo­ri­ous strife
Bear up the cra­zy load,
And drag those poor re­mains of life
Along the tire­some road.

Almighty God, re­veal Thy love,
And not Thy wrath alone;
O let our sweet ex­pe­ri­ence prove
The mer­cies of Thy throne.

Our souls would learn the heav’n­ly art
T’improve the hours we have,
That we may act the wis­er part,
And live be­yond the grave.