Frail life, and succeeding Eternity.

THEE we adore, eternal name! And humbly own to thee; How feeble is our mortal frame, What dying worms are we!

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

The year rolls round, and steals away The breath that first it gave; Whate'er we do, whate'er we be, We're traveling to the grave.

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

Great God! on what a slender thread, Hang everlasting things! Th' eternal state of all the dead, Upon life's feeble strings. Infinite joy, or wretched woe, Attends on ev'ry breath; And yet how unconcern'd we go, Upon the brink of death!

Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense, To walk this dang'rous road; And if our souls are hurried hence, May they be found with God.