Friends who only mock and leave me.
Nothing in the world endureth,
Or the soul's thirst can allay;
Fleeting is the rank that lureth.
Have I riches? What are they
Better than small dust of earth?
Have I pleasure? What's it worth?
What to-day my heart doth gladden,
That to-morrow doth not sadden?
Comfort, joy, in boundless measure,