1 Thee we adore, Eternal Name!
And humbly own to Thee,
How feeble is our mortal Frame,
What dying Worms are we!

2] Our wasting Lives grow shorter still,
As Months and Days increase;
And ev'ry beating Pulse we tell,
Leaves but the Number less.

3 The Year rolls round, and steals away
The Breath that first it gave;
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We're traveling to the Grave.]

4 Dangers stand thick thro' all the Ground
To push us to the Tomb;
And fierce Diseases wait around,
To hurry Mortals home.

5 Good God! on what a slender Thread
Hang Everlasting Things!
Th' Eternal States of all the Dead
Upon Life's feeble Strings.

6 Infinite Joy, or wretched Woe,
Attends on every Breath;
And yet how unconcern'd we go
Upon the Brink of Death!

7 Waken, O Lord! our drowsy Sense,
To walk this dang'rous Road;
And if our Souls be hurry'd hence,
May they be found with God.