Think, Mighty God, on Feeble Man

Think

migh­ty God

on fee­ble man;

How few his hours! how short his span!

Short from the cra­dle to the grave:

Who can se­cure his vi­tal breath

Against the bold de­mands of death

With skill to fly

or pow­er to save?

Lord

shall it be for ev­er said

The race of man was on­ly made

For sick­ness

sor­row

and the dust?

Are not Thy serv­ants day by day

Sent to their graves

and turned to clay?

Lord

where’s Thy kind­ness to the just?

Hast Thou not pro­mised to Thy Son

And all His seed a heav’n­ly crown?

But flesh and sense in­dulge des­pair:

For ever bless­èd be the Lord

That faith can read His ho­ly Word

And find a re­sur­rect­ion there.

For ever bless­èd be the Lord

Who gives His saints a long re­ward

For all their toil

re­proach

and pain:

Let all be­low and all above

Join to pro­claim Thy won­drous love

And each re­peat their loud Amen.