The Vanity of Earth.
Sickness prostrates; helpless sufferer,
Who can stem the sorrowing tide?
Oh! how vain, when death approacheth,
Earthly pleasures, wealth and pride.
Though your name may be illustrious,
Handed down through ages yet,
Worldly honor and distinction,
We shall all ere long forget.
Weeping friends may stand around you,
Flattering prospects urge your stay;
But compelled by the destroyer,
To be launched from earth away.
Past reflections, oh! how painful,
If not answered life’s great end;
Time all spent in vain delusion,
Now no hope, no God, no friend.
Who can paint the bitter anguish,
Felt at such a time as this;
Soon to leave those cherished idols,
Purchased with unending bliss.
Though we gain the world, what profit,
If we lose our souls at last?
Buy the gold, the shining raiment,
Ere the day of grace is past.