Almighty Maker of my frame!Teach me the measure of my days,Teach me to know how frail I am,And spend the remnant in Thy praise.
My days are shorter than a span,A little point my life appears;How frail at best is dying man!How vain are all his hopes and fears!
Vain his ambition, noise and show;Vain are the cares which rack his mind;He heaps up treasures mixed with woe,And dies and leaves them all behind.
O be a nobler portion mine!My God, I bow before Thy throne;Earth’s fleeting treasures I resign,And fix my hope on Thee alone.
Teach me the measure of my days,Thou Maker of my frame;I would survey life’s narrow space,And learn how frail I am.
A span is all that we can boast,An inch or two of time;Man is but vanity and dustIn all his flower and prime.
See the vain race of mortals moveLike shadows o’er the plain;They rage and strive, desire and love,But all the noise is vain.
Some walk in honor’s gaudy show,Some dig for golden ore;They toil for heirs, they know not who,And straight are seen no more.
What should I wish or wait for, then,From creatures earth and dust?They make our expectations vain,And disappoint our trust.
Now I forbid my carnal hope,My fond desires recall;I give my mortal interest up,And make my God my all.