By A Collection of Hymns

      C.M.
      1 THEE we adore, eternal name!
      And humbly own to thee,
      How feeble is our mortal frame,
      What dying worms we be!

      2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
      As days and months increase;
      And every beating pulse we tell
      Leaves but the number less.

      3 The year roll round, and steals away
      The breath that first it gave;
      Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
      We are travelling to the grave.

      4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground,
      To push us to the tomb;
      And fierce diseases wait around,
      To hurry mortals home.

      5 Great God! on what a slender thread
      Hang everlasting things;
      The eternal states of all the dead
      Upon life's feeble strings!

      6 Infinite joy, or endless woe,
      Depends on every breath;
      And yet how unconcerned we go
      Upon the brink of death!

      7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,
      To walk this dangerous road!
      And if our souls be hurried hence,
      May they be found with God!