The World is all a Fleeting Show

Deceived World, thou hast deceived
Me, and before me many more.
Through thee I am of Him bereaved
Who once, to win me, suffered sore.
Alack, I break faith with myself! Now I petition,
Merciful God, send me for this such true and firm contrition,
That this World's service I resign,
And so with Thy sweet Mother's aid may win me yet that everlasting meed of Thine!

Well for him who on what he was,
And is, and shall be soon, dares think!
He looks in a deceitful glass
Who from such timely thoughts doth shrink,
And for eternal joys doth not make ready duly,
Since how soon death may come there is no man that knoweth truly.
This warning I myself do need;
Yet even tho' I forget it, surely it were well if other folks thereto gave heed!

If a man know, yet will not know,
His own hand deals him death and shame.
I hold such wisdom like the show
Which from the puppets takes its name.
While they are worked, strange marvels there we may discover;
But he who does not see betimes how soon the show is over,
How like a dream it fades away,—
He may be sure that, if our teachers do not lie, both here and there he's gone astray.

One good I know and one alone:
Would that I had that good in sight!
The sweetness of that good is shown
At break of day and fall of night,
And every hour between them, safe from all disaster.
Of that same good I pray that my Creator make me master.
Our goods are fleeting, even as we;
Now give me, Lord, a share of that fixed, steadfast good, or poor for ever must I be!

Whenso the Lord of Lords shall come
And wrathfully demand His due,
He shall fulfil His righteous doom.
Now turn thy thoughts, frail World, thereto!
Be sure, for all He suffered, vengeance then He seeketh.
Let all good men bethink them of that passage where He speaketh:—
"Ye righteous, go to My right hand!
Ye who denied Me service there, must to the left, accursed in the fire to stand."

I know not any gifts so fair
As those God gives us to possess.
With all our frailties He doth bear,
In that we live in wickedness.
He gives us life, He gives us wealth, He gives us honour,
He gives us hearing, sight, and sense; of what more is He donor?
The beasts He gives us, wild and tame.
All things that fly and swim He puts beneath our sway; give not to Him, and great's the shame!

But little while those pleasures please
Whereon the world sets highest store.
A life of perfect bliss and ease,
Lo, how it fleets and is no more!
He who to-day soars high in bliss beyond all measure,
To-morrow in his dearest joys belike can take no pleasure.
This is a grief unequalled,
That we think nought thereon; yet at the last there's no tale told of us save "He is dead!"