Thou art but man, to thee 'tis known,
Why dost thou then endeavour
To do what God should do alone,
Or can accomplish ever?
A thousand griefs thou goest through,
In spite of all thy wit can do;
Upon thine end thou pond'rest,
What it will be thou wond'rest.
'Tis all in vain, in vain thy care,
With all thy musings earnest,