_Transibunt cito_, _quæ vos mansura putatis_.
Those things soon will pass away
Which ye think will always stay.
What ground, alas! has any man
To set his heart on things below,
Which, when they seem most like to stand,
Fly like an arrow from a bow?
Things subject to exterior sense
Are to mutation most propense.
If stately houses we erect,
And therein think to take delight,
On what a sudden are we checked,
And all our hopes made groundless quite!
One little spark in ashes lays
What we were building half our days.
If on estate an eye we cast,
And pleasure there expect to find,
A secret providential blast
Gives disappointment to our mind:
Who now’s on top ere long may feel
The circling motion of the wheel.
If we our tender babes embrace,
And comfort hope in them to have,
Alas! in what a little space
Is hope, with them, laid in the grave!
Whatever promiseth content
Is in a moment from us rent.
This world cannot afford a thing
Which, to a well-composed mind,
Can any lasting pleasure bring,
But in its womb its grave will find.
All things unto their centre tend;
What had {230} beginning will have end.
But is there nothing then that’s sure
For man to fix his heart upon—
Nothing that always will endure,
When all these transient things are gone?
Sad state! where man, with grief oppressed
Finds nought whereon his mind may rest.
O yes; there is a God above,
Who unto men is also nigh,
On whose unalterable love
We may with confidence rely,
No disappointment can befall
Us, having him that’s All in All.
If unto Him we faithful be,
It is impossible to miss
Of whatsoever He shall see
Conducible unto our bliss.
What can of pleasure him prevent
Who hath the fountain of content?
In Him alone if we delight,
And in His precepts pleasure take,
We shall be sure to do aright—
’Tis not His nature to forsake.
A proper object’s He alone,
For man to set his heart upon.
_Domino mens nixa quieta est_.
The mind which upon God is stayed
Shall with no trouble be dismayed.