THE
Protestant FATHER's
ADVICE
TO HIS
AMBITIOUS SON.
To the Tune of, State and Ambition.
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STate and Ambition, alas, will deceive you,
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there's no solid Joy but in Blessings above;
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Of all Comforts here, Heaven soon will bereave you,
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your Estates and your Bags it will shortly remove;
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But he that inherits a Portion of Grace,
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he may lye down in Peace and take his sweet rest,
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If after this life his Footsteps you'll Trace,
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you will find that with Saints and with Angels he's blest.
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His Portion is lasting, his Pleasures are certain,
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his Joys are unmixt, and his Blessings are sure;
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When the comforts of Earth are all fading & parting,
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his Peace and his Pleasures shall ever endure:
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His Labours shall meet with a Kingdom and Crown,
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his Glory and Joy shall never have end;
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When the Sun, Moon and Stars shall all tumble down,
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with glorious Arch-Angels his time he shall spend.
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Oh! then let us mount our Hearts up to Heaven,
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let our Souls be rouz'd up above this dull Earth;
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In Sion our Sins shall all be Forgiven,
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it's there, only there we can have our true Mirth:
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The World, alas, at best is a Bubble,
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a Shadow, a Dream, a Thing of no worth;
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At best, it breeds Vexation and Trouble,
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and Sorrow, and Misery often brings forth.
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Then live such a Life as you wou'd wish dying,
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a Life of Religion, of Truth and of Zeal,
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For your Time it has Wings and you'll find it still fly-ing,
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suddenly post you to Woe or to Weal:
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O! happp's that Man, thrice happy is he,
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whose end and whose aim are at Blessings above;
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The Beauty of Sion he shortly shall see,
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and still be surrounded with heavenly Love.
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What heavenly Raptures and Anthems are sound-ing
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in Ears of the Saints and the Angels in rest?
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Love, kindness and sweetness in Heaven's abounding,
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unspeakable Joy is attending the Blest;
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Lute, Timbrel and Harp are warbling out Praise,
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and filling the Heaven with glorious Delight,
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And the Blest Son of Man with his beauteous Rays,
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adorns all his Saints makes them glorious and bright.
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Since Heavens so glorious, and Earths such a trouble,
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it's madness and nonsence to dye unprepar'd;
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The Richest have found the whole Globe but a bubble,
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they that great Lands & great Fortunes have shard;
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No Joy that is real the World can allow,
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no Comfort, no Pleasure, no Mirth nor Content;
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Then why to this Wealth do Men foolishly bow?
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and why are our days so sordidly Spent?
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