Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Remember, Lord, our mortal state,|
How frail our life! how short the date!
Where is the man that draws his breath
Safe from disease, secure from death?
2. Lord, while we see whole nations die,
3. Where is thy promise to the just?|
Are not thy servants turned to dust?
But faith forbids these mournful sighs,
And sees the sleeping dust arise.
4. That glorious hour, that dreadful day,
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