That, made by God of all his creatures best,
Straight made himself the worst of all the rest:
If any strength we have, it is to ill;
But all the good is God’s, both power and will;
The dead man cannot rise, though he himself may kill.
Giles Fletcher.
Ah! what are we, but lumps of walking clay?
Why should we swell? Whence should our spirits rise?
Are not the beasts as strong, and birds as gay,
Trees longer lived, and creeping things as wise?