William Cowper 8,8,8,8 Vanity of the world. God gives his mercies to be spent; "Your hoard will do your soul no good: Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world's esteem is but a bribe, To buy their peace you fell your own; The slave of a vain-glorious tribe, Who hate you while they make you known. The Joy that vain amusements give, O! sad conclusion that it brings! The honey of a crowded hive, Defended by a thousand stings. 'Tis thus the world rewards the fools That live upon her treach'rous smiles; She leads them, blindfold, by her rules, And ruins all whom she beguiles. God knows the thousands who go down From pleasure, into endless woe; And with a long despairing groan Blaspheme their Maker as they go. O fearful thought! be timely wise; Delight but in a Savior's charms; And God shall take you to the skies, Embraced in everlasting arms. |