1 God of my Life look gently down,
Behold the Pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy Throne,
Nor dare dispute thy Will.

2 Diseases are thy Servants, Lord,
They come at thy Command;
I'll not attempt a murm'ring Word,
Against thy chast'ning Hand.

3 Yet I may plead with humble Cries,
Remove thy sharp Rebukes;
My Strength consumes, my Spirit dies,
Through thy repeated Strokes.

4 Crush'd as a Moth beneath thy Hand,
We moulder to the Dust;
Our feeble Pow'rs can ne'er withstand,
And all our Beauty's lost.

5 [This mortal Life decays apace,
How soon the Bubble's broke!
Adam and all his num'rous Race
Are Vanity and Smoke.]

6 I'm but a Sojourner below,
As all my Fathers were;
May I be well prepar'd to go,
When I the Summons hear!

7 But if my Life be spar'd a while,
Before my last Remove,
Thy Praise shall be my Business still,
And Ill declare thy Love.