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 thousand springs,
And dies if one be gone;
Strange! That a harp of a 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.
