|Location in The Sacred Harp|
GOD of my life, look gently down,
Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,
Nor dare dispute thy will.
Poland 86, Stanza 1
Diseases are thy servants, Lord,
They come at thy command:
I'll not attempt a murm'ring word,
Against thy chast'ning hand.
Yet may I plead with humble cries,
Remove thy sharp rebukes:
My strength consumes, my spirit dies,
Thro' thy repeated strokes.
Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand,
We moulder to the dust;
Our feeble pow'rs can ne'er withstand,
And all our beauty's lost.
[This mortal life decays apace,
How soon the bubble's broke!
Adam, and all his num'rous race
Are vanity and smoke.]
I'm but a sojourner below,
As all my fathers were;
May I be well prepar'd to go,
When I the summons hear.
Poland 86, Stanza 2
But if my life be spar'd a while
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my bus'ness still,
And I'll declare thy love.
Poland 86, Stanza 3