For gracious ends, and would’st that man should mourn!
O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric framed,
Who know’st it best, and would’st that man should know!
What is this sublunary world? A vapour;
A vapour all it holds; itself, a vapour;
From the damp bed of chaos, by Thy beam 140
Exhaled, ordain’d to swim its destined hour
In ambient air, then melt, and disappear.
Earth’s days are number’d, nor remote her doom;
As mortal, though less transient, than her sons;