Our Frail Bodies, and God Our Preserver

Let others boast how strong they be,

Nor death nor danger fear;

While we'll confess, O Lord, to Thee,

What feeble things we are.

Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,

And flourish bright and gay;

A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land,

And fades the grass away.

Our life contains a thousand springs,

And dies if one be wrong;

Strange, that a harp of thousand strings

Should keep in tune so long.

But 'tis our God supports our frame,

The God that formed us first,

Salvation to the almighty Name

That reared us from the dust!

While we have breath, or life, or tongues,

Our Maker we'll adore.

His Spirit moves our heaving lungs,

Or they would breathe no more.