SHORTNESS.
How long, Lord? wilt Thou hide Thyself for ever? shall Thy wrath burn like fire?
Remember how short my time is: wherefore hast Thou made all men in vain.—Psalm lxxxix. 46, 47.
Man’s life, sir, being
So short, and then the way that leads unto
The knowledge of ourselves so long and tedious,
Each minute should be precious.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me, and drink as I!
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may;
Life is short and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline!
Thine’s a summer, mine no more,
Though repeated to threescore!
Threescore summers, when they’re gone,
Will appear as short as one!
Oldys.
How short, how narrow is the span,
How few the years allow’d to man;
And e’en in those few years he feels,
And groans, beneath a thousand ills.
As springs the flower in some gay mead,
Then sudden hangs its drooping head,
So does our boasted strength decay,
And, like the shadow, flee away.
For every moment that we breathe,
We’re hast’ning to the gates of Death!
And who can needful help afford,
In that sad hour, but Thou, O Lord?
Conscious of guilt, to Thee we cry,
And raise the hand and lift the eye;
Yet sure our sins may justly move
Thine anger, rather than Thy love!
R. Brown.