 | Of the misery of man |  |
Of the Misery of Man.
Man's made of dust, by Nature prone to sin;
Conceiv'd, and born, and swadled up therein,
His time is short and swifter than the Sun;
For he once stood, but hours did ever run.
As soon's he comes into the world he cries;
He lives in grief, and with a Groan he dies.
Then whereupon hath Mortals to be proud?
Since Beauty, Riches, Wisdom, Fortitude,
Are but as Shadows, or like flowers in May,
That quickly grow, and suddenly decay:
And mighty Kings and Monarch can but have
A stinking Cradle, and a rotting Grave.
Yet though the Life of every mortal man,
Be wretched, poor, and shorter than a span;
Upon this moment doth depend and lye
The Endless term of long Eternity.
Conceiv'd, and born, and swadled up therein,
His time is short and swifter than the Sun;
For he once stood, but hours did ever run.
As soon's he comes into the world he cries;
He lives in grief, and with a Groan he dies.
Then whereupon hath Mortals to be proud?
Since Beauty, Riches, Wisdom, Fortitude,
Are but as Shadows, or like flowers in May,
That quickly grow, and suddenly decay:
And mighty Kings and Monarch can but have
A stinking Cradle, and a rotting Grave.
Yet though the Life of every mortal man,
Be wretched, poor, and shorter than a span;
Upon this moment doth depend and lye
The Endless term of long Eternity.
Then lead a Holy Life, Fast, Read, and Pray:
And live content, in Faith, from day to day.
That thou may'st sing back from Mount Zion high,
Death where's thy sting? Grave where's thy Victory?
And live content, in Faith, from day to day.
That thou may'st sing back from Mount Zion high,
Death where's thy sting? Grave where's thy Victory?
| Of the misery of man | |