Ecclesiastes, Chapter 11

Scatter thy Bread upon the hungry Maine:
This thou, in tract of time, shalt finde againe.
Thy Almes dispence to many; yet to more:
Famine or Warre perhaps may make thee poore.
Be like the Clouds in bountie; which on all
The thirstie Earth, in showers profufely fall.
Like pregnant Trees, that shed on every side
Their riper fruit; to none that stoope deny'd.
They shall not sow who for a Calme deferre:
Nor shall they reape whom gloomy skies deterre.
Know'st thou from whence the strugling Tempests come?
Or how our bones are fashion'd in the wombe?
Much lesse his greatnesse canst comprize; who made
The Globe of Earth, and radiant Heaven displai'd.
The seed of Charitie at Sunne-rise sow;
And when he sets, into the furrowes throw:
Know'st thou if this, or that, increase shall yeeld?
Or both with gratefull Eares invest thy Field?
How sweet is Light! how pleasant to behold,
The mounted Sun discend in beames of Gold!
Yet, though a Man live long; long in delight:
Let him remember that approching Night
Which shall in endlesse darkenesse close his Eyes:
Then will he all, as vanitie, despise.
Young man, rejoyce; thy hearts desires fulfill;
No other Lord acknowledge but thy will;
Thy Sences freely feast: yet shalt thou come
To Gods Tribunall, and receive thy Doome:
Decline his wrath, and Sin-infflicting paine:
For both the bud and flower of Youth are vaine.