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)|