Few, Few and Evil Are Thy Days

Few

few and ev­il are thy days

Man

of a wo­man born;

Peril and trou­ble haunt thy ways;

Forth

like a flow­er at morn

The ten­der in­fant springs to light

Youth blos­soms to the breeze

Age

wi­ther­ing age

is cropped ere night;

Man like a sha­dow flees.

And dost Thou look on such a one?

Will God to judgment call

A worm

for what a worm hath done

Against the Lord of all?

As fail the wa­ters from the deep

As sum­mer-brooks run dry

Man li­eth down in dream­less sleep

His life is va­ni­ty.

Man li­eth down

no more to wake

Till yon­der arch­ing sphere

Shall

with a roll of thun­der

break

And na­ture dis­ap­pear.

O hide me

till Thy wrath be past

Thou who canst slay or save!

Hide me

where hope may an­chor fast

In my Re­deem­er’s grave.