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1 Thro' ev'ry age, eternal God!
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was thy throne ere heav'n was made,
Or earth thy humble footstool laid.
2 Long hadst thou reign'd ere time began,
Or dust was fashion'd into man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure,
When earth and time shall be no more.
3 But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity:
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord was just,
'Return, ye sinners, to your dust.'
4 [A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in thine account;
Like yesterday's departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.
Pause.
5 Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away our life's a dream;
An empty tale; a morning flow'r,
Cut down and wither'd in an hour.]
6 Our age to seventy years is set:
How short the term! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.
7 But O how oft thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the pow'r that strikes us dead.]
8 Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man:
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Thro' ev'ry age, eternal God! |
Title: | A mournful song at a funeral |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1790 |
Scripture: |