Lord, what a feeble piece
by Isaac Watts·1719·Meter 6.6.8.6 (SM)
Based on Ps 90:5,10,12
1
Lord, what a feeble piece
Is this our mortal frame!
Our life how poor a trifle 'tis,
That scarce deserves the name!
2
Alas, the brittle clay
That built our body first!
And every month, and every day,
'Tis mould'ring back to dust.
3
Our moments fly apace,
Nor will our minutes stay;
Just like a flood, our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.
4
Well, if our days must fly,
We'll keep their end in sight;
We'll spend them all in wisdom's way,
And let them speed their flight.
5
They'll waft us sooner o'er
This life's tempestuous sea;
Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore
Of blest eternity.