The Vanity of Man as Mortal
by: Isaac Watts
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.
A span is all that we can boast;
A fleeting hour of time;
Man is but vanity and dust,
In all His flower and prime.
What should I wish or wait for then,
From creatures, earth, and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
Now I resign my earthly hope,
My fond desires recall;
I give my mortal interest up,
And make my God my all.
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