Almighty Maker of my frame,
Short is the measure of my days:
Give me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to 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;
He dies, and leaves them all behind.

O, be a nobler portion mine!
My Ail, I bow before Thy throne;
Life's fleeting treasures I resign,
And fix my hope on Thee alone.

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