Worthy art Thou, O Lord, of praise, 
But ah! It's not in me. 
My sinking heart I pray Thee raise 
So shall I give it Thee.

My life as spider's webb's cut off, 
Thus fainting have I said, 
And living man no more shall see 
But be in silence laid.

My feeble spirit Thou didst revive, 
My doubting Thou didst chide, 
And though as dead mad'st me alive, 
I here a while might 'bide.

Why should I live but to Thy praise? 
My life is hid with Thee. 
O Lord, no longer be my days 
Than I may fruitful be.