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Isaac Watts - Hymn 55
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Frail life, and succeeding eternity.

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 trav`lling 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.

Great 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.
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