Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
God of my life, look gently down,|
Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,
Nor dare dispute thy will.
2. Diseases are thy servants, Lord,
3. Yet I may plead with humble cries,
4. Crushed as a moth beneath thy hand,|
We moulder to the dust;
Our feeble powers can ne'er withstand,
And all our beauty's lost.
5. This mortal life decays apace,
6. I'm but a sojourner below,
7. But if my life be spared awhile,|
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my business still,
And I'll declare thy love.
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