Lord, What a Feeble Piece

Lord

what a fee­ble piece

Is this our mor­tal frame!

Our life how poor a tri­fle ’tis

That scarce de­serves the name!

Alas

the brit­tle clay

That built our bo­dy first!

And ev­ery month and ev­ery day

’Tis mol­der­ing back to dust.

Our mo­ments fly apace

Nor will our min­utes stay;

Just like a flood

our has­ty days

Are sweep­ing us away.

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.

They’ll waft us soon­er o’er

This life’s tem­pes­tuous sea;

Soon we shall reach the peace­ful shore

Of blest eter­ni­ty.