O Lord, make me to know the measure of my days.
My feebleness, my frailty. Thou dost know,
Who formed me from the dust. I am a tender flower,
Fresh and flourishing, with youth’s bright dew aglow;
Yet delicate am I. When winds of time pass o’er
The flower fades and fails and is no more.
So shall it be for me. O let me not forget
As now I bloom in youth’s bright hour that youth is vanity.
Its strength must fail, unless that strength be Thine.
Its joys must vanish all, unless their source is Thee.
And, knowing this, let me rejoice in life that Thou dost bless
With strength and joy and Covenant faithfulness.