4 We chatter with a swallow's voice,
Or like a dove we mourn,
With bitterness instead of joys,
Afflicted and forlorn.

5 Jehovah speaks the healing word,
And no disease withstands;
Fevers and plagues obey the Lord,
And fly at his commands.

6 If half the strings of life should break,
He can our frame restore;
He casts our sins behind his back,
And they are found no more.

DEATH.

253. The Vanity of Man as Mortal. (C.M.)

T

1 TEACH me the measure of my days, Thou maker of my frame ;

I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.

2 A

span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust,

In all his flower and prime.

3 See the vain race of mortals move,
Like shadows o'er the plain;

They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.

U

4 Some walk in honour's gaudy show,
Some dig for golden ore;

They toil for heirs,-they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.

5 What should I wish or wait for then,
From creatures, earth, and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.

6 Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond desires recal;
I give my mortal interest up,
And make my God my all.

254. Man Frail, and God Eternal. (C. M.)

1GOD, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come;

Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.

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

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

4 Thy word commands our flesh to düst,
Return, ye sons of men :"

66

All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.

5 A thousand ages in thy sight,
Are like an evening gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night,
Before the rising sun.

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

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

8 Like flow'ry fields the nations stand,
Pleas'd with the morning light;
The flow'rs beneath the mower's hand,
Lie withering 'ere 'tis night.

9 O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come;

Be thou our guard while life shall last,
And our eternal home.

255. Infirmities and Mortality the Effect of Sin.

(C. M.)

1 LORD, if thine eyes survey our faults, And justice grows severe,

Thy dreadful wrath exceeds our thoughts,
And burns beyond our fear.

2 Thine anger turns our frame to dust;
By one offence to thee,

Adam, with all his sons, have lost,
Their immortality.

3 Life, like a vain amusement, flies,
A fable, or a song;

By swift degrees our nature dies,
Nor can our joys be long.

4 "Tis but a few whose days amount,
To threescore years and ten;
And all beyond that short account,
Is sorrow, toil, and pain.

5 Our vitals, with laborious strife,
Bear up the crazy load,

And drag those poor remains of life,
Along the tiresome road.

6 Almighty God, reveal thy love,
And not thy wrath alone;

O let our sweet experience prove,
The mercies of thy throne!

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

256. The Frailty and Shortness of Life. (S. M.)

1

ORD, what a feeble piece,

Lo

Is this our mortal frame!

Our life how poor a trifle 'tis,

That scarce deserves the name!

2

Alas! the brittle clay,

That built our body first!

And every month, and every day,

'Tis mouldering back to dust.

3 Our moments fly apace,
Nor will our minutes stay;
Just like a flood, our hasty days,
Are sweeping us away.

4 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.

5

They'll waft us sooner o'er,
This life's tempestuous sea:

Soon we shall reach the peaceful shore,
Of blest eternity.

257.

1

Triumph over Death. (C. M.)

GREAT God, I own thy sentence just,

And nature must decay;

I yield my body to the dust,

To dwell with fellow clay.

2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs:
My Jesus, my Redeemer, lives,
My God, my Saviour comes.

3 The mighty Conqueror shall appear,
High on a royal seat;

And death, the last of all his foes,

Lie vanquish'd at his feet.

4 Though greedy worms devour my skin,
And gnaw my wasting flesh;

When God shall build my bones again,
He clothes them all afresh.