1 Lord, we adore thy wond'rous name,
And make that name our trust,
Which rais'd at first this curious frame,
From mean and lifeless dust.

2 A while these frail machines endure,
The fabrick of a day;
Then know their vital pow'rs no more,
But moulder back to clay.

3 Yet, Lord! whate'er is felt or fear'd,
This thought is our repose —
That he, by whom this frame is rear'd,
Its various weakness knows.

4 Thou view'st us with a pitying eye,
Whilar struggling with our load;
In pains and dangers thou art nigh,
Our Father, and our God.

5 Gently supported by thy love,
We tend to realms of peace;
Where ev'ry pain shall far remove,
And ev'ry frailty cease.