We're traveling to the grave

1055 C. M.
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!
                         Isaac Watts
                         Methodist Episcopal hymnal (1870 edition)

<idle musing>
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.
</idle musing>