13
Are all these gifts bestow'd on me—
A poor, weak, and feeble creature,
Subject to pain, and sin, and death—
Are they made for my enjoyments?
And did I ever yet merit
Even one of all thy mercies?
No;—man is by nature sinful,
Too prone to base ingratitude.
Pardon my faults, Almighty God!
And fix this wand'ring, erring heart,
With humble faith, on thee alone.
A few hours hence, and I shall mingle
With the busy crowd of mortals,
Expos'd alike to sin and pride,
And ev'ry false alluring snare
Which the deceitful world holds forth.
Before this sun shall set again,
I may behold thousands engag'd
In life's uncertain bustling scene;
Some perhaps thinking of its wealth,
How they may best add heap to heap,
Forgetful of the slender thread
A poor, weak, and feeble creature,
Subject to pain, and sin, and death—
Are they made for my enjoyments?
And did I ever yet merit
Even one of all thy mercies?
No;—man is by nature sinful,
Too prone to base ingratitude.
Pardon my faults, Almighty God!
And fix this wand'ring, erring heart,
With humble faith, on thee alone.
A few hours hence, and I shall mingle
With the busy crowd of mortals,
Expos'd alike to sin and pride,
And ev'ry false alluring snare
Which the deceitful world holds forth.
Before this sun shall set again,
I may behold thousands engag'd
In life's uncertain bustling scene;
Some perhaps thinking of its wealth,
How they may best add heap to heap,
Forgetful of the slender thread
