Teach Me the Measure of My Days

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 dust

In all his flow­er and prime.

See the vain race of mor­tals move

Like 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.