1THEE we adore, eternal name,
And humbly own to thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame!
What dying worms we be!
2Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months increase;
And every beating pulse we tell,
Leaves but the number less.
3The years roll round and steals away
The breath that first it gave:
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We are travelling to the grave.
4Dangers stand thick through all the ground,
To push us to the tomb,
And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.
5Great God on what a slender thread
Hang everlating things!
The eternal states of all the dead
Upon life's feeble strings!
6Infinite joy or endless woe
Depends on every breath!
And yet how unconcerned we go
Upon the brink of death!
7Waken, oh Lord! our drowsy sense
To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God?