Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

It tells the conquerer,

That farre-stretcht powre,

Which his proud dangers traffique for,
Is but the triumphe of an houre;

That from the farthest North
Some nation may,

Yet undiscovered, issue forth,

And on his new-got conquest sway.

Some nation, yet shut in
With hills of ice,

May be let forth to scourge his sinne,
Till they shall equal him in vice.

Then they likewise shall

Their ruine have;

For, as your selves, your empires fall, And every kingdome hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute,

The fallacies of our desires,

And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watcht since first
The world had birth;

And found sinne in it selfe-accurst,
And nothing permanent on earth.

CXXXVIII.

CAN he be fair, that withers at a blast?
Or he be strong, that airy breath can cast?
Can he be wise, that knows not how to live?
Or he be rich, that nothing hath to give?

Can he be young, that's feeble, weak, and wan?—-
So fair, strong, wise, so rich, so young

is man.

So fair is man, that death, a parting blast,

Blasts his fair flower, and makes him earth at last;
So strong is man, that with a gasping breath
He totters, and bequeaths his strength to death;
So wise is man, that if with death he strive,
His wisdom cannot teach him how to live;
So rich is man, that, all his debts being paid,
His wealth's the winding-sheet wherein he's laid;
So young is man, that, broke with care and sorrow,
He's old enough to-day to die to-morrow.

Why bragg'st thou then, thou worm of five-foot long? Thou 'rt neither fair, nor strong, nor wise, nor rich, nor young.

CXXXIX.

SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright,

Bridal of earth and sky,

The dew shall weep thy fall to night;

For thou, alas! must die.

Sweet rose! in air whose odours wave,
And colours charm the eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou, alas! must die.

Sweet spring, of days and roses made,
Whose charms for beauty vie,
Thy days depart, thy roses fade,
Thou too, alas! must die.

Be wise then, Christian, while you may
For swiftly time is flying;

The thoughtless man, that laughs to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.

CXL.

Now I live;

But if to-night?-to-morrow?-know I not.
O well for me, when I can leave

my

lot

All unto God!

To Him

my

faithful service give,

And, through His Spirit's strength,

Prepare for my account at length.

See the flower,

Which, full of brightness, in the morning shone: It doth no longer wave the stalk upon

When evening comes.

So lasts man's glory but an hour.
And canst thou, soul, thus waste
A life that fleeth in such haste?

Stand thou clear

From earth. Here is thy struggle ;-yonder, rest.
Up, up my soul! press forward; heaven is best!
Now hasten home.

Let earth seem distant-heaven more near.
How soon this life doth fly!

How soon comes that which shall not die!

Never delay

To do the duty which the hour brings,
Whether it be in great or smaller things:
For who doth know

What he shall do the coming day?

This moment is for thee;

The next, perhaps, thou wilt not see.

Father of all !

So let thy warning, "Watch," be not in vain ;—

Let my soul hear,

And daily answer to the call;

Then sudden death shall be

But a quick step to life and Thee.

CXLI.

THE glories of our mortal state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
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;
But their strong nerves at length must yield;
They tame but one another still:

Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, poor captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon Death's purple altar now,
See where the victor victim bleeds!
All heads must come

To the cold tomb:

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom from the dust.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »