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154. Lord, what a feeble piece

Lord, what a feeble piece
Is this our mortal frame!
Our life, how poor a trifle 'tis,
That scarce deserves the name!

Alas! 'twas brittle clay
That built our body first!
And every month and every day
'Tis mouldering back to dust.

Our moments fly apace,
Our feeble powers decay;
Swift as a flood our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.

Yet if our days must fly,
We'll keep their end in sight,
We'll spend them all in wisdom's ways,
And let them speed their flight.

They'll waft us sooner o'er
This life's tempestuous sea:
Soon shall we reach the peaceful shore,
Of blest eternity.

Text Information
First Line: Lord, what a feeble piece
Title: Lord, what a feeble piece
Publication Date: 1854
Meter: S.M.
Language: English
Tune Information
Meter: S.M.

MIDI file: Kambia.midi
More media are available on the text authority page.

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