Time, what an empty reaper ’tis!
Our days how swift they are,
Swift as an Ind’an arrow flies,
or like a shooting star.
Our life is ever on the wing,
And death is ever nigh,
The moment when our lives begin,
We all begin to die.
Yet mighty God, our fleeting days
Thy lasting favors share
Yet with the bounties of Thy grace,
Thou load’st the rolling year.