Dr. Watts was always frail. Failing health compelled him to leave the charge of his congregation to which he was much attached, and he greatly appreciated hy them. Yet he lived to the fairly advanced age of 74.

Oft have I sat in secret sighs
To feel my flesh decay ;
Then groaned aloud, with frightened eyes
To view the tottering clay.

But I forbid my sorrows now,
Nor dares my flesh complain;
Diseases bring their profit too-
The joy overcomes the pain.

My cheerful soul now all the day
Sits waiting here and sings,
Looks through the ruin of her clay
And practices her wings.

Faith almost changes into sight
While from afar she spies
Her fair inheritance in light
Above created skies,

Had these her prison walls been strong
And firm without a flaw,
In darkness she had dwelt too long,
And less of glory saw.

But now the everlasting hills
Through every chink appear,
And something of the joy she feels,
While she's a prisoner here.

The shines of heaven rush sweetly in
At all the gaping flaws;
Visions of endless bliss are seen,
And native air she draws.

Oh, may these walls stand tottering still,
The breaches never close,
If I must here in darkness dwell
And all this glory lose;
Yea rather, let this flesh decay,
The ruins wider grow,
Till, glad to see the enlarged ways,
I stretch my pinions through.