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ORD, let me know my term of days, How soon my life will end; The num'rous train of ills disclose, Which this frail state attend.
Man like a shadow vainly walks,
With fruitless cares oppress'd; He heaps up wealth, but cannot tell By whom 'twill be possess'd.
I.—(4. 6, 7. 12, 13.)
HENRY PURCELL. Died, 1695. !
O spare me yet a little time,
My wasted strength restore; Before I vanish quite from hence, And shall be seen no more.
Why then should I on worthless toys,
Lord, hear my cry, accept my tears,
Director of Music at Leipsig. 1655.
From Havergal's Old Church Psalmody.'
Helpless we in danger's hour,
Not by mortal's feeble sword,
A broken spirit is
By God most highly prized;
By Him a broken contrite heart
Shall never be despised.
* Educated in the Chapel Royal, Organist of St. Clement Dane and St. Bride.
Make me to hear with joy
The joy Thy favour gives