 | A Small Collection of Hymns |  |
The World's Vanity, and God's All-Sufficiency.
From the French.
Go search, who chuse, the double hemisphere,
And then report the vanity that's there:
Their state too restless, tho' intense their fires,
To fix the soul, or fill it's vast desires.
And then report the vanity that's there:
Their state too restless, tho' intense their fires,
To fix the soul, or fill it's vast desires.
See not thine eyes the worldling's sore distress?
The ambitious groaning 'midst their fond success?
The miser'd wretch that worships gold, in chains,
And all his joys embitter'd by his pains?
The ambitious groaning 'midst their fond success?
The miser'd wretch that worships gold, in chains,
And all his joys embitter'd by his pains?
Then search with all the eagerness of eye,
The spangling lustres of the vaulted sky:
In vain thou look'st—thy look is still too low—
For hear me, mortals, and from henceforth know,
That nought on earth, nor e'en in heav'n's abode,
Can fill the soul, but the soul-filling God.
The spangling lustres of the vaulted sky:
8
For hear me, mortals, and from henceforth know,
That nought on earth, nor e'en in heav'n's abode,
Can fill the soul, but the soul-filling God.
| A Small Collection of Hymns | |