Classic Poem

Homo Vanitas Fons auarum viventrium Christus

When This world seems to court me with a smile
I'm tickld all within the while
Then in a Cloud of Crosses if it frown
I'm every whit as soon cast down
'Tis too too true that in mans nature lies
A million of Infirmeties
Shaken by th'wind, and soe entitled thence
To weather-cock-Obedience

Knowing not what to hope or fear
Whilst all its motians are Irreguler
Shot betwixt wind and water thus
We may expect the doome of Icarus
But as the Hart or chased Roe
Unto the waters for refreshments goe
Soe if in hott'st of Trialls we
Can find our fresh springes out (Jesus) in thee
Ther's noe pursute of Time or chance
Shall fright or chase us into variance.

But in the gates of Sion whilst we dwell
Ther'l need noe scout nor Centinell
For safety from above the Lord intends
To Those become His Cittisens
Players on Instrumments and singers ther
What ere Delights and Comforts are
Shall not be wanting to fullfill
Predictions of that Holy-Hill
Wher His Foundations Layd: t'Ascend which mount
Each must below goe less in's owne account.