1 Lord, let me know my term of days
How soon my life will end;
The numerous train of ills disclose,
Which this frail state attend.
2 My Life, Thou know'st, is but a span,
A cipher sums my years;
And every man, in best estate,
But vanity appears.
3 Man, like a shadow, vainly walks,
With fruitless cares oppress'd;
He heaps up wealth, but cannot tell
By whom 'twill be possess'd.
4 Why then should I on worthless toys
With anxious cares attend?
On Thee alone my steadfast hope
Shall ever, Lord, depend.
5 Lord, hear my cry, accept my tears,
And listen to my prayer,
Who sojourn like a stranger here,
As all my fathers were.
6. O spare me yet a little time;
My wasted strength restore,
Before I vanish quite from hence,
And shall be seen no more.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Lord, let me know my term of days |
Meter: | C.M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1871 |
Topic: | Offices of the Church: Burial of the Dead |