---

Isaac Watts - Psalm 90
Work rating: Medium

v.5,10,12 
S. M.
The frailty and shortness of life.

Lord, what a feeble piece
Is this our mortal frame!
Our life how poor a trifle `tis,
That scarce deserves the name!

Alas, the brittle clay
That built our body first!
And every month, and every day,
`Tis mould`ring back to dust.

Our moments fly apace,
Nor will our minutes stay;
Just like a flood, our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.

Well, if our days must fly,
We`ll keep their end in sight;
We`ll spend them all in wisdom`s way,
And let them speed their flight.

They`ll waft us sooner o`er
This life`s tempestuous sea;
Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore
Of blest eternity.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.