aked as from the earth we came,
And crept to life at first,
We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.

The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,
Are but short favors borrowed now,
To be repaid anon.

’Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;
He gives, and, blessed be his name!
He takes but what he gave.

Peace, all our angry passions, then;
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.

If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;
And we’ll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.

—The Psalms & Hymns of Isaac Watts. Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book I: Collected from the Holy Scriptures (Soli Deo Gloria, 1997).

1 I called vnto the Lorde in my trouble, and hee heard me.
2 Deliuer my soule, O Lord, from lying lippes, and from a deceitfull tongue.
3 What doeth thy deceitfull tongue bring vnto thee? or what doeth it auaile thee?
4 It is as the sharpe arrowes of a mightie man, and as the coales of iuniper.
5 Woe is to me that I remaine in Meschech, and dwell in the tentes of Kedar.
6 My soule hath too long dwelt with him that hateth peace.
7 I seeke peace, and when I speake thereof, they are bent to warre.