Short is man's life, and full of care and sorrow,
This way and that he turns some ease to borrow,
Like to a flower he blooms, and on the morrow
Is gone—a vision of the night.
How does the weight of sin my soul oppress!
Because God's law too often I transgress;
I mourn and sigh: with tears of bitterness
My bed I water all the night.
I rise at dawn and still the salt stream flows,
My heart's blood would I shed to find repose;