1 Teach me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame!
I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.
2 A span is all that we can boast;
An fleeting hour of time;
Man is but vanity and dust
In all his flow'r and prime.
3 See the vain race of mortals move,
Like shadows o'er the plain:
They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.
4 Some walk in honour's gaudy show;
Some dig for golden ore;
They toil for heirs they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.
5 What should I wish or wait for then,
From creatures, earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
6 Now I resign my earthly hope,
My fond desires recall;
I give my mortal int'rest up,
And make my God my all.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Teach me the measure of my days |
Meter: | C. M. |
Publication Date: | 1828 |
Topic: | Death; The Vanity of Man as Mortal |