1 Thee we adore, eternal name!
And humbly own to thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms we be!

2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months 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;
What e'er we do, where e'er we be,
We're trav'ling 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 Great GOS! on what a slender thread
Hang everlasting things;
Th' eternal states of all the dead,
Upon life's feeble strings.

6 Infinite joy or endless woe,
Attend on ev'ry 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 are hurry'd hence,
May they be found with God.