LIFE.
A man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.—Luke, xii. 15.
This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.—John, xvii. 3.
In hope of eternal life, which God, that cannot lie, promised before the world began.—Titus, i. 2.
For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.—James, iv. 14.
Hereby perceive we the love of God; because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.—I. John, iii. 16.
So, in the passing of a day, doth pass
The bud and blossom of the life of man,
Nor e’er doth flourish more, but like the grass
Cut down, becometh withered, pale, and wan.
Tasso.
I live on earth upon a stage of sorrow;
Lord, if Thou pleasest, end the play to-morrow.
I live on earth, as in a dream of pleasure;
Awake me when Thou wilt, I wait Thy leisure.
I live on earth, but as of life bereaven;
My life’s with Thee, for, Lord, Thou art in Heaven.
Quarles.
Thy life’s a warfare, thou a soldier art,
Satan’s thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edged weapon, patience thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;
And who the second, basely flies the field.
Quarles.
While man is growing, life is in decrease;
And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
Our birth is nothing but our death begun;
As tapers waste that instant they take fire.
*****
He sins against this life, who slights the next.
Young.
Life is most enjoyed
When courted least; most worth when disesteemed;
Then ’tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace,
In prospect richer far; important, awful,
Not to be mentioned, but with shouts of praise!
Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy!
The mighty basis of eternal bliss!
*****
In the same brook, none ever bathed him twice:
To the same life, none ever twice awoke.
We call the brook the same; the same we think
Our life, though still more rapid in its flow;
Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed,
And mingled with the sea.
Young.
Opening the map of God’s expansive plan,
We find a little isle, this life of man;
Eternity’s unknown expanse appears
Circling around, and limiting his years.
The busy race examine and explore
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore,
With care collect what in their eyes excels,
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells,
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great,
And happiest be that groans beneath his weight.
The waves o’ertake them in their serious play,
And every hour sweeps multitudes away;
They shriek and sink—survivors start and weep,
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.
Cowper.
This mortal life,
Seeming so fair, is like a feather tossed,
Borne on the wind, and in a moment lost.
Or if with sudden wheel it flies
Further sometimes, and upwards springs,
And then upon its wings
Sustained in air, as if self-balanced, lies,
The lightness of its nature is the cause—
And swiftly, after little pause,
With thousand turns, and thousand idle stops,
Because it is of earth, to earth it drops.
From the Italian of Sanazzaro.
Transient, fickle, light, and gay,
Flattering only to betray;
What, alas! can life contain!
Life like all its circles,—vain.
Moore.
Man’s life’s a book of history;
The leaves thereof are days;
The letters, mercies closely joined;
The title is God’s praise.
Mason.
How short is human life! the very breath
Which frames my words, accelerates my death.
Hannah More.
Ah, what is Life! a dream within a dream;
A pilgrimage from peril rarely free;
A bark that sails upon a changing sea,
Now sunshine and now storm; a mountain stream
Heard, but scarce seen ere to the dark deep gone;
A wild star blazing with unsteady beam,
Yet for a season fair to look upon.
Life is an infant on Affection’s knee,
A youth now full of hope and transient glee,
In manhood’s peerless noon, now bright, anon
A time-worn ruin silvered o’er with years.
Life is a race where slippery steeps arise,
Where discontent and sorrow are the prize,
And where the goal appears the grave is won.
E. Moxon.
In deserts of the Holy Land I strayed,
Where Christ once lived, but seems to live no more,
On Lebanon my lonely home I made,
I heard the wind among the cedars roar,
And saw, far off, the Great Sea’s solemn shore:
“But ’tis a dreary wilderness,” I said,
Now the prophetic spirit hence has fled:
Then, from a convent in the vale, I heard,
Slow-chanted forth, the everlasting Word,
Saying “I am he that liveth, and was dead,
And lo! I am alive for evermore.”
Then forth upon my pilgrimage I fare,
Resolved to find and praise Him everywhere.
J. Gostick.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
“Life is but an empty dream!”
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,”
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way,
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate,
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
Longfellow.