| We spend our years as a tale that is told. (Psa. 90:9) |
| Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, Thou hast made my days as a handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before Thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah. (Psa. 39:4‑5) |
Rise, my soul, thy God directs thee;
Stranger hands no more impede;
Pass thou on; His hand protects thee —
Strength that has the captive freed. |
When to Canaan’s long-loved dwelling
Love divine thy foot shall bring,
There, with shouts of triumph swelling,
Zion’s songs in rest to sing. |
