Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/The Vanity of Life
THE VANITY OF LIFE.
AS waves the grass upon the earth to day,
Which soon the wasting scythe shall sweep away;
As smiles the flow'ret in the verdant field,
Which soon before the passing blast shall yield;
So flourish we upon our beds of clay,
So grow a while, so droop, and so decay.
Dust turns to dust, with ashes, ashes blend,
But upward, upward let the soul ascend;
To God who gave it, let the spirit go,
While the frail form returns to earth below.
A few may sigh upon the grave's cold brink,
A few salt tears the broken soil may drink,
A few sad hearts in agony may bleed,
And pay that tribute, which they soon shall need.
While these frail honours wait the mould'ring dust,
Say, smiles the spirit with the kindred just?
Shine its pure garments in the white rob'd train?
Or sound its groans amid the realms of pain?
Ah, who can tell? The cause is God's alone,
Hereafter thou shalt see, and bless that dark unknown.