|Almighty Maker of my frame,|
Short is the measure of my days:
Give me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to Thy praise.
My days are shorter than a span;
A little point my life appears:
How frail, at best, is dying man!
How vain are all his hopes and fears!
Vain his ambition, noise, and show;
Vain are the care which rack his mind:
He heaps up treasures mixed with woe
He dies, and leaves them all behind.
Oh, be a nobler portion mine!
My God, I bow before Thy throne;
Life's fleeting treasures I resign,
And fix my hope on Thee alone.