Frailty of life.
THEE we adore, eternal Name!
And humbly own to thee
How feeble is our mortal frame-
What dying worms are we!
2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months increase;
And every beating pulse we tell,
Leaves but the number less.
3 The year rolls round, and steals away
The breath that first it gave:
Whate’er we do, where’er we be,
We ’re travelling to the grave.
4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground,
To push us to the tomb;
And ﬁerce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.
5 Inﬁnite joy, or endless wo,
Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcern’d we go,
Upon the brink of death!
6 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense
To walk this dang’rous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God!
Methodist Episcopal hymnal (1870 edition)
Gotta love the realism of his outlook: "Whate’er we do, where’er we be, / We ’re travelling to the grave" and "ﬁerce diseases wait around, / To hurry mortals home." Whatever else, Watts was a realist.