Naked 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 (bless­èd 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.