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Tumultuary nations rose
And armed troops our walls inclose,
But His fear'd voice unnerv'd our foes.
The Lord of Hosts is on our side;
Our strength, on whom we have relied.
Come, see the wonders he hath wrought
He makes destructive wars surcease;
He breaks their bows, unarms their quivers,
The bloody spear in pieces shivers,
Forbear, and know that I the Lord
The Lord of Hosts is on our side,
Our strength, on Whom we have relied.
"IT IS APPOINTED UNTO ALL MEN ONCE TO DIE."
THE glories of our blood and state,
There is no armour against fate :
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
The garlands wither on your brow,
See where the victor-victim bleeds!
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
HE CAN CARRY NOTHING WITH HIM WHEN HE
WAGES of Sin is death: the day is come,
Wherein the equal hand of death must sum
The brows that sweat for kingdoms and renown,
To glorify their temples with a crown ;
At length grow cold, and leave their honoured name
To flourish in the uncertain blast of fame.
This is the height that glorious mortals can
For his extreme ambition to deserve,
Six feet of length and three of breadth must serve,
Lives he in wealth? Doth well-deserved store
Crown him with plenty, and his days with peace ?
Of wealth cannot secure him; he must die.
Lives he in pleasure? Does perpetual mirth
Lives he in honour? hath his fair desert
Lives he a conqueror? and doth heaven bless
The progress of his lasting fame may vie
With time but yet the conqueror must die.