King of heaven, our nature wearing,

Pity lend the sad despairing;

’Neath the sway of sin repining,

Formed from dust, to dust declining—

Tottering in our ruined state,

Strengthen by Thy goodness great.

What is man from sin descending?

Child of death, all woes attending.

What is man? a worm that clingeth

To the earth from which he springeth.

Wilt Thou forth Thine anger bring,

On a weak, defenceless thing?

Shall not man, who earthward tendeth,

Look to God, who mercy sendeth?

’Twere a task most unbefitting,

God o’er man in judgment sitting—

Yet should God in judgment speak,

Where shall man an answer seek?

As the shadow quickly flying,

Faint our life and sure our dying;

As the cloud by tempest driven,

As the grass cut down at even;—

King of heaven, in mercy great,

Pity the disconsolate.