Teach me the mea-sure of my days,
Thou Mak-er of my frame;
I would sur-vey life's nar-row space,
And learn how frail I am.
A span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but van-i-ty and dust,
In all his flower and prime.
See the vain race of mor-tals move
Like shad-ows o'er the plain,
They rage and strive, de-sire and love,
But all the noise is vain.
Some walk in hon-our's gaud-y show,
Some dig for gold-en ore,
They toil for heirs they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.
What should I wish or wait for then
From crea-tures, earth and dust?
They make our ex-pec-ta-tions vain,
And dis-ap-point our trust.
God of my life, look gent-ly down,
Be-hold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb be-fore Thy throne,
Nor dare dis-pute Thy will.
Dis-eas-es are Thy ser-vants, Lord,
They come at Thy com-mand;
I'll not at-tempt a mur-muring word,
A-gainst Thy chas-tening hand.
Yet I may plead with hum-ble cries,
Re-move Thy sharp re-bukes;
My strength con-sumes, my spi-rit dies
Through Thy re-peat-ed strokes.
But if my life be spared a-while,
Be-fore my last re-move,
Thy praise shall be my bus-iness still,
And I'll de-clare Thy love.
Teach me the mea-sure of my days,
Thou Mak-er of my frame;
I would sur-vey life's nar-row space,
And learn how frail I am.
*Music: Composed 2000 by Mitch Cervinka. Donated to the Public Domain for the unrestricted use of Christ's church.