Download: Music (mp3) | Score (png)

1. Lord, what a feeble piece
    Is this our mortal frame!
Our life, how poor a trifle ’tis,
    That scarce deserves the name!

2. Alas! ’twas brittle clay
    That built our body first!
And ev’ry month and ev’ry day
    ‘Tis mould’ring back to dust.

3. Our moments fly apace,
    Our feeble pow’rs decay;
Swift as a flood our hasty days
    Are sweeping us away.

4. Yet if our days must fly,
    We’ll keep their end in sight,
We’ll spend them all in wisdom’s ways,
    And let them speed their flight.

5. They’ll waft us sooner o’er
    This life’s tempestuous sea:
Soon shall we reach the peaceful shore,
    Of blest eternity.

Author: Isaac Watts
Composer: Unknown
Meter: S.M.
Song in the Night: Page 59

Brittle Clay

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