Scripture Verse

As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. Psalm 103:15–16

Introduction

portrait
Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Words: Is­aac Watts, Hymns and Spi­ri­tu­al Songs, Book 2, 1709, num­ber 55. Frail life, and suc­ceed­ing eter­ni­ty.

Music: Men­don Ger­man tune. Ar­ranged by Sam­uel Dy­er, Sup­ple­ment of Sam­uel Dyer’s Third Edi­tion of Sac­red Mu­sic 1828 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Dy­er (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

Lyrics

Thee we adore, eter­nal Name!
And hum­bly own to Thee
How fee­ble is our mor­tal frame,
What dy­ing worms are we.

Our wast­ing lives grow short­er still,
As months and days in­crease;
And ev­ery beat­ing pulse we tell
Leaves but the num­ber less.

The year rolls round, and steals away
The breath that first it gave;
Whate’er we do, wher­e’er we be,
We’re tra­vel­ing to the grave.

Dangers stand thick through all the ground
To push us to the tomb;
And fierce dis­eas­es wait around,
To hur­ry mor­tals home.

Good God! on what a slen­der thread
Hang ev­er­last­ing things!
Th’eter­nal states of all the dead
Upon life’s fee­ble strings.

Infinite joy or end­less woe
Attends on ev­ery breath,
And yet how un­con­cerned we go
Upon the brink of death!

Waken, O Lord! our drow­sy sense,
To walk this dan­ger­ous road;
And if our souls be hur­ried hence,
May they be found with God.