1 Frail is the state of mortal man,
His life's a shade, his days a span,
He can't prolong his vital breath,
Nor 'scape the unerring shaft of death.
2 Soon he declines from youth to age,
And passes swiftly o'er the stage;
Swift from the dradle to the tomb,
From sprightly spring to winter's gloom.
3 Be ever watchful, then, my soul,
While days, and months, and seasons roll;
Redeem the present fleeting hour,
Improve it while 'tis in thy power:
4 That when this transient life's no more,
And all its joys and cares are o'er,
From death's dark vale thou may'st arise
To nobler mansions in the skies.Source: A Collection of Psalms and Hymns for Publick Worship #CXXXIII