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1 Lord, what a feeble piece
Is this our mortal frame!
Our life! how poor a trifle 'tis,
That scarce deserves the name!
2 Alas, the brittle clay
That built our body first!
And ev'ry month, and ev'ry day,
'Tis mould'ring back to dust.
3 Our moments fly apace,
Our feeble pow'rs decay,
Swift as a flood our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.
4 Yet, 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.
5 They'll waft us sooner o'er
This life's tempestuous sea;
Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore
Of blest eternity.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Lord, what a feeble piece |
| Title: | The Frailty and Shortness of Life |
| Meter: | Short Metre |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1793 |
| Scripture: | ; ; |
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