Death’s countless snares beset thy way;
Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.
2 Fond youth, while free from blighting care,
Does thy firm pulse beat high?
Do hope’s glad visions, bright and fair,
Dilate before thine eye?
Soon these must change, must pass away;
Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.
3 Thou aged man, life’s wintry storm
Hath seared thy vernal bloom;