THE
Vanity of Vain Glory.
With good Advice to those who chuse
Immediate pleasures here,
That they no longer can refuse,
The thing which cost so dear.
Tune, The Gloryes of our birth and State.
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THe gloryes of our birth and state,
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are shaddows not substantial things
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There is no armour against our fate
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death layes his Icy hands on kings;
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Scepter and Crown must tumble down
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and in the dust be equall laid,
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With a poor crooked sigh and spade.
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Some men with swords do reap the field
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and plant fresh Lawrels where they kill,
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But their strong nerves at length must yield
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they tame but one another still,
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Early or late all bend to fate
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& must yield up their murmouring breath
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Whilst the pale Captive bleeds to death.
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The garland withers on your brow
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then boast no more your mighty deeds
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For on deaths purple Alter now
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see how the victor victored bleeds,
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All heads must come to the cold tomb
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only the Actions of the just
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Smells sweet and blossoms in the dust.
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All things in this poor life are vain
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then for a change let us prepare,
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We must swim through a sea of pain
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before we reach that Heaven, where
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Theres joyes in store for evermore,
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and we shall be for ever blest,
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From toile and labour then to rest,
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THen never cease to run that race
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which leads to everlasting bliss,
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Amongst the saints to take a place
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oh! what encouragement is this,
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Who would refuse that way to choose
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which leads to blest eternity,
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From pains and sorrows to be free.
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While in this life to some so sweet
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all kind of wickedness abound,
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And with such crosses we do meet
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as all our comforts do confound,
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There you shall be from passion free
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and hear no mournings nor complaints
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But praises sing amongst the saints.
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Infinite joys shall them attend
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who at that Haven do arrive,
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Where God himself shall be their friend
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and nothing ever shall deprive
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Them of that bliss, which they must miss
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who will not leave their vanity,
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But glory in debauchery
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That path which to destruction leads
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and loads the soul with heaps of sin,
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To many men more pleasure breeds,
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and they are more delighted in,
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Then that which brings all blessed things
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eternal joy and endless peace,
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Where bliss abounds and pains do cease.
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But mortal men are always prone
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their present pleasures for to chuse,
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Eternal joyes they let alone
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and thus by sin theyr soul abuse
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What pitty tis that men should miss
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that happiness which cost so dear,
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For momentary pleasures here.
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Learn to be wise fond man in time
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while tis to day, your sins repent
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You may be cut off in your prime
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and then too late you may lament,
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In time return for fear you burn
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and in the lake of torments fry
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Whose flames will burn perpetually.
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