Pause

Death like an overflowing stream Sweeps us away; our life's a dream; An empty tale; a morning flower Cut down and wither'd in an hour.

[Our age to seventy years is set; How short the term! how frail the state! And if to eighty we arrive, We rather sigh and groan than live.

But O how oft thy wrath appears, And cuts off our expected years! Thy wrath awakes our humble dread; We fear the power that strikes us dead.]

Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man; And kindly lengthen out our span, Till a wise care of piety Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.

Psalm 90:2. 1-5. First Part. C. M. Man frail, and God eternal.

Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of thy throne Thy saints have dwelt secure; Sufficient is thine arm alone, And our defence is sure.

Before the hills in order stood, Or earth receiv'd her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same.

Thy word commands our flesh to dust, "Return, ye sons of men:" All nations rose from earth at first, And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in thy sight Are like an evening gone; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun.

[The busy tribes of flesh and blood, With all their lives and cares, Are carried downwards by thy flood, And lost in following years.

Time like an ever-rolling stream Bears all its Sons away; They fly forgotten as a dream Dies at the opening day.

Like flowery fields the nations stand Pleas'd with the morning light; The flowers beneath the mower's hand Lie withering ere 'tis night.]

Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home.

Psalm 90:3. 8 11 9 10 12. 2d Part. C. M. Infirmities and mortality the effect of sin; or, Life, old age, and preparation for death.

Lord, if thine eyes survey our faults, And justice grow severe, Thy dreadful wrath exceeds our thoughts, And burns beyond our fear.

Thine anger turns our frame to dust; By one offence to thee Adam with all his sons have lost Their immortality.

Life like a vain amusement flies, A fable or a song; By swift degrees our nature dies, Nor can our joys be long.

'Tis but a few whose days amount To threescore years and ten, And all beyond that short account is sorrow, toil, and pain.

[Our vitals with laborious strife Bear up the crazy load, And drag those poor remains of life Along the tiresome road.]

Almighty God, reveal thy love, And not thy wrath alone; O let our sweet experience prove The mercies of thy throne!

Our souls would learn the heavenly art T' improve the hours we have, That we may act the wiser part, And live beyond the grave.

Psalm 90:4. 13 &c. Third Part. C. M. Breathing after heaven.

Return, O God of love, return; Earth is a tiresome place: How long shall we thy children mourn Our absence from thy face!

Let heaven succeed our painful years, Let sin and sorrow cease, And in proportion to our tears So make our joys increase.

Thy wonders to thy servants show, Make thy own work complete, Then shall our souls thy glory know, And own thy love was great.

Then shall we shine before thy throne In all thy beauty, Lord; And the poor service we have done Meet a divine reward.

Psalm 90:5. 5 10 12. S. M. The frailty and shortness of life.

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 mouldering 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.

Psalm 91:1. 1-7. First Part. Safety in public diseases and dangers.

He that hath made his refuge God, Shall find a most secure abode, Shall walk all day beneath his shade, And there at night shall rest his head.

Then will I say, "My God, thy power "Shall be my fortress and my tower; "I that am form'd of feeble dust "Make thine almighty arm my trust."

Thrice happy man! thy Maker's care Shall keep thee from the fowler's snare, Satan, the fowler, who betrays Unguarded souls a thousand ways.

Just as a hen protects her brood From birds of prey that seek their blood, Under her feathers, so the Lord Makes his own arm his people's guard.

If burning beams of noon conspire To dart a pestilential fire, God is their life; his wings are spread To shield them with an healthful shade.

If vapours with malignant breath Rise thick and scatter midnight death, Israel is safe; the poison'd air Grows pure if Israel's God be there.