Almighty Maker Of My Frame,
Teach Me The Measure Of My Days,
Teach 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,
And Dies, And Leaves Them All Behind.
O Be A Nobler Portion Mine!
My God, I Bow Before Thy Throne:
Earth’s Fleeting Treasures I Resign,
And Fix My Hope On Thee Alone.
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