I. My Live I now to God resign:
At his Decree I'll not repine.
Will he prolong my mournful Days,
His promis'd Grace
Suffices me to run my Race.
II. I die at his appointed Hour.
Who dares resist his sov'reign Pow'r?
My very Hairs he knows 'em all,
Both great and small,
Without his Will not one can fall.
III. What is our Life? A constant Scene
Of Sighs and Tears, of Care and Pain:
Moments of sin, and Months of Woe
Here ebb and flow,
Till we are summon'd hence to go.
IV. What is a Man? a Clod of Earth,
A needy Mortal from his Birth;
Brought Nothing with him, when he came,
But Sin and Shame;
And naked leaves this worldly Frame.
V. No Greatness, Wit, nor golden Store
Can here obtain a better Score:
'Gainst Death no Physick can prevail;
No Fee nor Bail
Can cancel ADAM'S sad Entail.
VI. To Day we live, look fair and red;
To Morrow fain, are sick or dead:
To Day we blossom like a Rose;
Anon who knows
But Death presents the Farewell-Dose.
VII. Lord, make us number thus our Days,
T'apply our Hearts to Wisdom's Ways,
And learn, how swift our Moments fly,
That all must die,
Poor, Rich, Young, Old, the Low and High.
VIII. This is the Fruit of ADAM'S Fall;
Death like a Conqu'ror seizeth all;
Sin gives him Pow'r o'er human Race;
There is no Place
Exempt from his continual Chace.
IX. Evil and few, as JACOB says,
Alas, I count my Pilgrim- Days.
When God shall call his Servant home,
I'll meet my Tomb,
In Hopes of lasting Joys to come.
X. And tho' I feel the Guilt of sin
Assaulting me without, within,
I know, God gave his only Son,
Who can attone
For what I all my Life have done.
XI. 'Tis he my Lord and Saviour CHRIST,
Who for my sins was sacrific'd,
And rose triumphant from the Grave,
That he might save
My Soul from being Satan's Slave.
XII. To him I give my Life and Breath:
His Love shall guide my Soul through Death,
And bring me to that blessed Place,
Where Face to Face
I shall behold the God of Grace.
XIII. This gives me Comfort and Relief
In all my greatest Pain and Grief,
That I shall rise, when CHRIST appears,
Without the Tears
I shed in my distressed Years.
XIV. To Thee, Lord CHRIST, I humble press,
To cloathe me with thy Righteousness:
Within thy Wounds I crave a Place,
O Source of Grace!
For there's my only Happiness.
XV. Amen! Thou Sov'reign God of Love,
Grant us thy Bliss when we remove,
That All redeemed by thy Blood
May find in God
Their everlasting sure Abode.