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Kambia
S.M.
1. Lord, what a feeble piece Is this our mortal frame! Our life, how poor a trifle 'tis, That scarce deserves the name! | 2. Alas! 'twas brittle clay That built our body first! And every month and every day 'Tis mouldering back to dust. | 3. Our moments fly apace, Our feeble powers decay; Swift as a flood our hasty days Are sweeping us away. | 4. Yet if our days must fly, We'll keep their end in sight, We'll spend them all in wisdom's ways, And let them speed their flight. | 5. They'll waft us sooner o'er This life's tempestuous sea: Soon shall we reach the peaceful shore, Of blest eternity. | |
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