On the uncertainty of Life.
Our life is most uncertain, this is plain:
Our time is nothing, and our courage vain.
So my infants die before they see the light,
Before their day begins, it turns to night.
5. The place that nature form'd them in, the womb,
It turn'd to them to be, and it a tomb.
Other are born into this world and cry!
Then yield their spirits up to God, and die:
They live to show this is a world of strife,
10 And then breathe out their small remains of life.
Others are born, and live an hour or two,
Then bid this world of pain and woe, adieu!
Between one rising, and one setting fun,
They're born, their life begins, their life is done.
15 All in the compass of a single day,
They come, they live, and breathe, and die away.
While we expect in them some joy to have,
They're snatch'd away to the cold, gloomy grave;
So all our expectation, from us fled.
20 Our new born babies are number'd with the dead.
Some live indeed to wear a graceful smile,
And make their mothers glad, and do beguile
Their fond affections, with their pleasant airs.
But ah! Death comes on them at unawares.
25. See death the pleasant infant now arrests.
It dies, upon its tender mother's breasts.
The bud is cropt, the lilly is decay'd.
The pretty child in the cold grave is laid.
The tender parents they are left to mourn!
30. And drop their tears o'er their dear infant's urn.
Their long expected joy, it turn'd to pain.
They see their hope, and expectation's vain.
There's others live to prattle and to play,
And show themselves brighter than flowers of May,
35. And promise to their parents dear much joy.
But ah! Death comes, and does their hopes destroy.
The pleasant child is taken from their fight,
The blooming morning's turn'd to dusky night.
The fair and pleasant role, the lovely flow'r
40. Is gone; crept off, and wither'd in an hour.
So all our hopes are blasted; and we say,
Our pleasures, and our comforts, fly away.
If we on our dear children, set our hearts,
Death comes, and our dear children from us parts.
45. There's others live a little longer age,
Begin to throw themselves upon the stage;
The little youth so forward, and so bright,
Appears most lovely in his parents sight,
Their joys begin to flourish like the morn.
50. Their hopes, and expectations grow like corn.
What pleasures, and what joy, they hope to take,
In this dear child, who doth appearance make.
Like a fair plant, which doth both thrive and grow
In a fair garden water'd well, ev'n so
55. The pleasant youth, all lovely, doth appear,
Like a fair morning: But the Hemisphere
Is soon beclouded, with most dismal glooms,
Death comes and sends the body to the tombs.
The sprightly boy falls sick, his beauties fade,
60. All the dependance which his parents made
Upon their son, is gone! He's sick, and dies,
No longer lives, to bless their wishful eyes.
The lovely plant is taken quite away.
He's gone! Death gave his golden days no day.
65. His parents they are left, to stay behind.
The vanity of all things here they find.
Thus beauty, sense and wit decay.
All things below the skies do pass away.
Another lives to make a graceful show.
70. All in his prime appears, and knows no woe,
His blood is warm, his heart has just begun
To taste the sweetness here, beneath the fun.
Now he is mounting on the busy stage
Of life, ten thousand things his mind engage.
75. His thoughts are quick and nimble, and they fly
Thro all the scenes of life, and vanity.
All youthful pleasures fill his mind with strife.
Which way to lead and spend his pleasant life.
He thinks of this, that, and other thing.
80. His mind is roving, thoughts are on the wing.
All young he is, all wanton, brisk and gay.
The night he spends in pleasure, and the day
Is spent in some delightful exercise,
To please his ears, his taste, his wishful eyes.
85. His friends with pleasure wait to see him thrive,
While they behold him in his sphere to strive.
While they behold him in his sphere to strive,
To raise himself to high and sam;d renown,
They hope to see him happily set down,
With some companion, pleasant, rich, and gay,
90. To chear his life. But hark! hark! hark! I pray!
While all these things are moving on the stage,
Death! Death! Grim death! That spares no sex nor age,
Comes suddenly behind, and with one blow,
The stately plant so fair he down doth mow.
95. The scene is clos'd he's gone the wind of death,
Blows fatal on him! He resigns his breath.
There is an end to all his tow'ring schemes;
There is an end to all his painted dreams!
There is an end to all his airy toys;
100. There is an end to all his carnal joys.
There is an end to all his pleasure here.
There is an end to all his mirth and cheer.
There is an end to all his youth and prime.
There is a final end to all him time.
105. There is an end to all his brave designs,
There is an end to all his flow'ry lines.
There is an end to all his parents hopes,
He's gone who was one of their strongest props,
Their boasted expectation in him sails.
110. For death against their warmest wish prevails.
Instead of pleasure in the marriage bed,
He's number'd with, and to the num'rous dead.
Instead of cloathing gay, the winding sheet,
Covers his body o'er, from head to feet.
115. Instead of beauty bright, his cheeks are pale,
Instead of mirth, all mourning doth prevail.
So soon the scene is chang'd the scale is turn'd,
That lovely breast that glow'd, and flam'd, and burn'd
With am'rous thoughts is now become like clay.
120. Cold, lifeless, senseless, stupid, (look I pray)
And see those eyes that were so clear and bright,
Clos'd up and seal'd, and shut, in gloomy night.
O come, and see that lovely head grown cold,
And see those pleasant features that so bold,
125. Made their appearance in his blooming face,
Where youth and chearful beauty, found a place,
See them all faded, and entirely gone!
And all that pleasing lustre, that once shone
In his sweet countenance is gone and fled.
130. A cap and mufler now doth dress his head.
The blood that ran in his sweet youthful veins,
It runs no more, but clodded still remains
Like a corrupted mass, all putrify'd.
He's now a loathsome lump. Who can abide
135. The loathsome smell? Or bear to see the sight,
Or gaze upon his features with delight?
His eyes can't see, his ears they cannot hear,
His tongue can't speak, his heart you cannot cheer,
His hands can't handle, neither can his feet,
140. Carry his weight about , his pulse don't beat.
Of every action he's uncapable;
Nor can a thought, or an intention dwell
Within his breast all these have ceas'd to be.
He lies a cold, dead lump of clay, you see!
145. Behold he's fit for nothing, but the grave,
Though lately he was vig'rous, stout, and brave.
So here's the end of this bold vig'rous youth.
A sad and awful, but a certain truth
Closes the whole affair, all flesh is grass,
150. And ah his glory, soon away shall pass;
As grass doth wither, and the flowers decay.
So all the sons of men shall pass away.
Another lives, to see a married state,
And just begins to live in plenty great.
155. He's like a tree, with blossoms well adorn'd,
That never was by any trav'iler scorn'd,
But all that pass along, with great delight
Stop and refresh themselves, and feast their fight;
So is this man, so pleasant and so kind,
160. So sweet, so affable, of such a mind,
As is so winning, and so stable too,
That ev'ry candid man, who doth him view;
Doth with him well, desiring he may stand,
And long enjoy his wife, his house, and land.
165. But of a sudden, unexpected death,
Snatches away his strength, his life, and breath!
He's of a sudden taken sick, and dies!
And leaves his wife, and friends with weeping eyes!
The tree so fair, up by the roots is torn,
170. And no kind offspring left behind to mourn.
Thus here we see, how frail we mortals are,
Death doth surprise us ere we are aware
This gives us warning, not to trust in man,
For all his days on earth are but a span.
175. Another lives, to come to middle age,
And makes advances on life's busy stage:
His children are around him, and they're fed
By their dear father, who provides them bread:
He's full of business, plotting night and day
180. How to fulfill his part: Nights pass away
In grand contrivances; the day in cares,
He's now surrounded with ten thousand snares.
He's now as busy as he can well be,
In the affairs of his dear family,
185. They do on him for their support depend,
He is their greatest, chiefest, earthly friend.
He now appears like to a fruitful tree,
All fair, all full of branches, thus hath he
Taken root downwards, and stands firm and strong,
190. And bears fruit upwards; but it is not long
Before death comes, and with his conquer'ing hand
Cuts down the lovely tree which cannot stand
Before the fatal ax, but down doth fall:
The tree so fair, so fruitful, and so tall,
195. It is cut down, with one sure fatal blow.
The man hath lost his glory, pomp, and show.
He's from his wife, and tender offspring torn;
And they are left behind, in tears, to mourn!
He's in his full strength taken quite away,
200. His body now is but a lump of clay.
He is from all his earthly business fled.
The news flies "come to bury him he's dead"
Thus in the grave the man a lodging finds,
The grave with iron fetters now him binds.
205. So here's an instance proves man's life's a span!
Trust no in man: poor mortal, dying man!
Death seizes on his breath, and he's no more!
He's gone! he's gone! he's gone! his life is o'er!
No more is seen, among the living here;
210. The fun that shone so bright doth disappear,
And is obseur'd, and hidden from our view:
The man to all things here hath bid adieu!
He's left his tender babes, and loving wife,
In all the cares, and troubles of this life.
215. He from his family is snatch'd away;
In the meridian of his fair day.
This is the meditation of my mind on this,
That earth cannot afford substantial bliss:
And man hath but a short, and fleeting day,
220. Which soon is gone! and past, and fled away!
Therefore trust no in man, for he is vain!
His days are fill'd with cares, his years with pain?
Who then would trust in man? poor dying man?
For all his age, and life is but a span.
225. Another lives some longer time and space;
And sees his children thrive, and views his race
Of chearful children just begin to spread.
And just begin to settle: And he's fed
With hopes, that he shall live unto old age,
230. And see his children's children, on the stage.
He's like a tree, whose fruit begins to show
It's rip'ning clusters, full, on ev'ry bough;
And bids most fair for a most plentuous crop:
But as the rip'ning fruit begins to drop,
235. One comes along, and levels down the tree,
And all's destroy'd at once: Even so we see
This man is suddenly cut down by death,
Which comes, and takes away his life, and breath.
He ceases all at once: He's gone! he's gone!
240. And in his place he now no more is known:
Thus here se see, how fleeting are our days!
How soon time runs along! it never stays,
But goes on post-haste, till it stops our breath,
Then ev'ry age resigns to cruel death!
245. No one is quarded from his cruel dart,
He wounds and pierces the most stubborn heart:
All yield to death of every sex, or age,
They fall a prey to his relentless rage;
His wounds are fatal, and there is no cure,
250. When Death the arrow shoots, the end is sure.
Thus man, poor man, doth die, we plainly see,
He giveth up the ghost, and, where is he?
There's others live to see their children's see;
And to live to see them flourish, grow, and spread;
255. They live, indeed, to some advanced age,
While thousands of their fellows leave the stage;
They have surviv'd and liv'd to see the years
Which brings upon them gray and hoary hairs.
They see their children's children on the stage,
260. Which are their crown, as faith the scared page.
But they at last do yield to cruel death,
Which comes and seizes on their fainting breath.
And ah! how short their days will seen at last!
When all their years are spent, and gone, and past.
265. What are their years, when they are fairly o'er?
They seen like nothing, when they are no more.
His days are gone, and at the close he says,
"Fools that I was, to trust these fleeting days,
Which now are gone! and yield me no relief,
270. But leave me sad. They're few, and full of grief;
My days have evil been, and full of cares;
And now they're spent, and gone at unawares."
Thus he doth yield his breath, and share the fate
Of men in general, both small and great.
275. Another lives unto the age of men.
What's that? It is but threescore years and ten;
And but a moment, when its past and gone.
Unto eternity, which then comes on.
When seventy years are gone, and past, we may
280. Most justly blame ourselves, reflect and say,
Ah fools indeed! to trust our fleeting hours,
Which have brought on these times, when all our pow'rs
"Are so decay'd, that we can't act, nor think:
"And now we are upon the very brink
285. Of vast eternity! and where's our time?
"Our childhood's gone! our youth is past, our prime
"Is o'er! our middle-age, and manhood's done!
"Our days are at an end! our setting sun
"Just lets us know our months and years are past.
290. "And now our moments draw towards the last.
"And what is all our time? but one short day,
"Which now doth close, and we can hardly say,
"Which way our hours are spent: but this we know
"That they are gone, and spent, and death our foe
295. "Comes now to meet us, we must bid adieu.
"To all these sublunary things we view,
"And here enjoy below; and take a turn
"With death: Our candle now most dim doth burn.
"Which plainly tells us, that our life is past.
300. "These hours tho' sad, and few, they are the "last."
So here we see all time is a short span;
And they who live to see the age of man,
Have but a space, an interval of light,
Before their day is turn'd to dusky night.
305. Death comes and levels down the aged tree.
So death as last will cut down you and me.
Some live indeed to fourscore years, but then
There are more like to children than to men.
Their days are fill'd with labour, sorrow, pain.
310. Their strength is all cut off. Their life is vain.
Death comes to them, and cuts them off, and they
Having their days cut off soon fly away.
Thus is man's life uncertain as we view.
He soon is call'd to bid this world adieu!
315. Death comes to ev'ry sex, and ev'ry age.
He conquers all, with whom he doth engage,
How fleeting, and how transitory's life!
How full of cares, and sorrows, woes, and strife.
Oh! that we might through grace, prepared be
320. For that blest life, in blest eternity! |
Behold,