1. Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life’s a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flow’r,
Cut down and withered in an hour.
2. Our age to sev’nty years is set;
How short the time! How frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We’d rather sigh and groan than live.
3. Teach us, Oh Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out the span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die and dwell with Thee.
|First Line:||Death, like an overflowing stream|
|Author:||Isaac Watts (1707)|