Wherefore Should Man, Frail Child of Clay

Wherefore should man

frail child of clay

Who

from the cra­dle to the shroud

Lives but the in­sect of a day—

Oh why should mor­tal man be proud?

His bright­est vi­sions just ap­pear

Then van­ish

and no more are found:

The state­li­est pile his pride can rear

A breath may le­vel with the ground.

By doubts per­plexed

in er­ror lost

With trem­bling step he seeks his way:

How vain

of wis­dom’s gift the boast!

Of rea­son’s lamp

how faint the ray!

Follies and crimes

a count­less sum

Are crowd­ed in life’s lit­tle span:

How ill

alas

does pride be­come

That err­ing

guil­ty crea­ture

man!

God of my life! Fa­ther di­vine!

Give me a meek and low­ly mind:

In mo­dest worth oh let me shine

And peace in hum­ble vir­tue find.