God preserves our frail bodies.

LET others boast how strong they be, Nor death, nor danger fear; But we'll confess, O Lord, to thee, What feeble things we are.

Fresh as the grass our bodies stand, And flourish bright and gay; A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land, And fades the grass away.

Our life contains a thousands springs, And dies if one be gone; Strange that a harp of thousand strings Should keep in tune so long.

But 'tis our God supports our frame, The God who formed us first; Praise be to his Almighty name, That reared us from the dust.

While we have breath, or life, or tongues, Our Maker we'll adore; His Spirit moves our heaving lungs Or they would breathe no more.