2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As months and days increase,
And every beating pulse we tell
Leaves but the number less.

3 The year rolls round, and steals away
The breath that first it gave;
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We're travelling to the grave.

4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground, To push us to the tomb;

And fierce diseases wait around
To hurry mortals home.

5 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,
To walk this dangerous road,
And, if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God.

475

C. M.

Vanity of Life.

J. NEWTON.

1 THE evils that beset our path
Who can prevent or cure?
We stand upon the brink of death,
When most we seem secure.

2 If we to-day sweet peace possess,
It soon may be withdrawn;

Some change may plunge us in distress
Before to-morrow's dawn.

3 Disease and pain invade our health,
And find an easy prey;

And oft, when least expected, wealth
Takes wings and flies away.

4 The gourds, from which we look for fruit, Produce us only pain;

A worm unseen attacks the root,

And all our hopes are vain.

5 Since sin has filled the earth with woe,
And creatures fade and die,

Lord, wean our hearts from things below,
And fix our hopes on high.

476

L. M.
Ps. 49.

J. Q. ADAMS.

1 WHY should I fear in evil days,

With snares encompassed all around? What trust can transient treasures raise For them in riches who abound? His brother who from death can save ? What wealth can ransom him from God? What mine of gold defraud the grave? What hoards but vanish at his nod?

2 To live forever is their dream;

Their houses by their name they call; While, borne by time's relentless stream, Around them wise and foolish fall; Their riches others must divide;

They plant, but others reap the fruit;

In honor man cannot abide,

To death devoted, like the brute.

3 This is their folly, this their way;
And yet in this their sons delight;
Like sheep, of death the destined prey,
The future scorn of the upright;

The grave their beauty shall consume,
Their dwellings never see them more;
But God shall raise me from the tomb,
And life for endless time restore.

4 What though thy foe in wealth increase,
And fame and glory crown his head?
Fear not, for all at death shall cease,

Nor fame, nor glory, crown the dead: While prospering all around thee smiled, Yet to the grave shalt thou descend; The senseless pride of fortune's child Shall share the brute creation's end.

477

L. M. 6L.

DODDRIDGE.

The transitory Nature of the World.

1 SPRING up, my soul, with ardent flight,
Nor let this earth delude thy sight

With glittering trifles gay and vain:
Wisdom divine directs thy view
To objects ever grand and new,
And faith displays the shining train.

2 Be dead, my hopes, to all below;
Nor let unbounded torrents flow,

When mourning o'er my withered joys: So this deceitful world is known; Possessed, I call it not my own, Nor glory in its painted toys. 3 The empty pageant rolls along ; The giddy, inexperienced throng Pursue it with enchanted eyes; It passeth in swift march away; Still more and more its charms decay, Till the last gaudy color dies.

4 My God, to thee my soul shall turn; For thee my noblest passions burn,

And drink in bliss from thee alone; I fix on that unchanging home, Where never-fading pleasures bloom, Fresh springing round thy radiant throne.

478

C. M.

WATTS.

The Vanity of Man as Mortal. Ps. 39.

1 TEACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame;

I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.

2 A span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust
In all his flower and prime.

3 See the vain race of mortals move
Like shadows o'er the plain;

They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.

4 Some walk in honor's gaudy show;
Some dig for golden ore;

They toil for heirs they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.

5 What should I wish or wait for, then,
From creatures, earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.

479

L. M.

J. SHIRLEY, altered.

1 THE glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on kings.

2 Princes and magistrates must fall,
And in the dust be equal made,
The high and mighty with the small,
Sceptre and crown with scythe and spade.

3 The laurel withers on our brow;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds: Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds!

4 All heads must come to the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just

Preserve in death a rich perfume,

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

Man frail and God eternal. Ps. 90.

1 OUR God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home,

2 Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the same.

WATTS.