CCLXVIII. The transitory Nature of the World, an Argument for christian Moderation.

SPRING up, my Soul, with ardent Flight,
Nor let this Earth delude thy Sight
With glitt'ring Trifles gay and vain:
Wisdom divine directs thy View
To Objects ever grand and new,
And Faith displays the shining Train.

Be dead, my Hopes, to all below;
Nor let unbounded Torrents flow,
When mourning o'er my wither'd Joys:
So this deceitful World is known;
Possess'd I call it not mine own,
Nor glory in its painted Toys.

The empty Pageant rolls along;
The giddy unexperienc'd Throng
Persue it with enchanted Eyes;
It passeth in swift March away,
Still more and more its Charms decay,
Till the last gaudy Colour dies .

My GOD, to Thee my Soul shall turn;
For Thee my noblest Passions burn,
And drink in Bliss from Thee alone:
I fix on that unchanging Home,
Where never-fading Pleasures bloom,
Fresh springing round thy radiant Throne.