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PSALM 39. Second Part. C.M.
The vanity of man as mortal.

1	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.
2	A span is all that we can boast;    How short, how fleet our time! Man is but vanity and dust,    In all his flow'r and prime.
3	See the vain race of mortals move    Like shadows o'er the plain: They rage and strive, desire and love;    But all their noise is vain.
4	Some walk in honour's gaudy show;    Some dig for golden ore; They toil for heirs they know not who,    And straight are seen no more.
5	What should I wish or wait for then    From creatures, earth and dust? They make our expectations vain,    And disappoint our trust.
6	Now I forbid my carnal hope,    My fond desires recall: I give my mortal interest up,    And make my God my all.

PSALM 39. Third Part. C.M.
Sick-bed devotion.

1	GOD of my life, look gently down,    Behold the pains I feel; But I am dumb before thy throne,    Nor dare dispute thy will.
2	Diseases are thy servants, Lord,    They come at thy command:

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PSALM 39. Third Part. C.M.
Sick-bed devotion. (cont.)

2	I'll not attempt a murm'ring word,    Against thy chast'ning hand.
3	Yet I may plead with humble cries,    "Remove thy sharp rebukes:" My strength consumes, my spirit dies,    Thro' thy repeated strokes.
4	Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand,    We moulder to the dust: Our feeble pow'rs can ne'er withstand,    And all our beauty's lost.
5	This mortal life decays apace,    How soon the bubble's broke! Adam, and all his num'rous race,    Are vanity and smoke.
6	I'm but a sojourner below,    As all my fathers were; May I be well prepared to go,    When I the summons hear.
7	But, if my life be spar'd a while    Before my last remove; Thy praise shall be my bus'ness still,    And I'll declare thy love.

PSALM 40. First Part. C.M.
Deliverance from great distress.

1	WAITED patient for the Lord;    He bow'd to hear my cry: He saw me resting on his word,    And brought salvation nigh.
2	He rais'd me from a horrid pit,    Where mourning long I lay; And from my bonds releas'd my feet,    Deep bonds of miry clay.
3	Firm on a rock he made me stand;    And taught my cheerful tongue