Teach me the measure of my days,

Thou maker of my frame;

I would survey life’s narrow space,

And learn how frail I am

A span is all that we can boast,

An inch or two of time;

Man is but vanity and dust

In all his flower and prime

See the vain race of mortals move

Like shadows o’er the plain;

The rage and strive, desire and love,

But all the noise is vain

Some walk in honor’s gaudy show,

Some dig for golden ore;

The toil for heirs, they know not who,

And straight are seen no more

What should I wish or wait for, then,

From creatures earth and dust?

The make our expectations vain

And disappoint our trust

Now forbid my carnal hope,

My find desires recall;

I give my mortal interest up,

And make my God my All