Job 7:6 My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.
Psalm 78:39 For he remembered that they were but flesh; a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.
Psalm 102:11 My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.
1 Chronicles 29:15 For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.
John 16:33 ...In the world ye shall have tribulation...
Romans 5:12 Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned:
1 Corinthians 15:22 For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
I’m but a sojourner below,
As all my fathers were;
May I be well prepared to go
When I the summons hear.
But if my life be spared awhile,
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my bus’ness still
And I’ll declare Thy love.
Should earth against my soul engage,
And fiery darts by hurled,
Then I can smile at Satan’s rage,
And face a frowning world.
Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall!
May I but safely reach my home,
My God, my heav’n, my all.
Buried in sorrow and in sin;
At hell’s dark door we lay,
But we arise by grace divine,
To see a heav’nly day.
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides
And never fading flow’rs;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heav’nly land from ours.
Broad is the road that leads to death,
And thousands walk together there;
But wisdom shows narrow a path,
With here and there a traveler.
Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life’s a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flow’r,
Cut down and withered in an hour.
Our age to sev’nty years is set;
How short the time! How frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We’d rather sigh and groan than live.
Teach us, Oh Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out the span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die and dwell with Thee.
Why should we start or fear to die,
What tim’rous worms we mortals are;
Death ’tis the gate to endless joy,
But still we dread to enter there.
[Note: All hymns quoted are by Isaac Watts.]