Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Lord, if thine eye surveys our faults,|
And justice grows severe,
Thy dreadful wrath exceeds our thoughts,
And burns beyond our fear.
2. Thine anger turns our frame to dust;
3. Life, like a vain amusement, flies,
4. 'Tis but a few whose days amount|
To threescore years and ten;
And all beyond that short account
Is sorrow, toil, and pain.
5. Our vitals with laborious strife
6. Almighty God, reveal thy love,
7. Our souls would learn the heav'nly art|
T' improve the hours we have,
That we may act the wiser part,
And live beyond the grave.
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