Classic Poem

Ah ! few, and full of sorrow, are the days
Of man from woman sprung! His life decays
Like that frail flow'r, which with the sun's uprise
Her bud unfolds, and with the ev'ning dies.
He like an empty shadow glides away,
And all his life is but a winter's day.
Wilt Thou Thine eye upon a vapour bend,
Or with so weak an opposite contend?
Who can a pure and crystal current bring
From such a muddy and polluted spring?
O, since his days are number'd, since Thou hast
Prescrib'd him bounds that are not to be pass'd,
A little with his punishment dispense,
Till he have serv'd his time, and part from hence.
A tree, though hewn with axes to the ground,
Renews his growth, and springs from his green wound;
Although his root wax old, his fivers dry,
Although the sapless bole begin to die,
Yet will at scent of water freshly sprout,
And like a plant thrust his young branches out.
But man when once cut down, when his pale ghost
Fleets into air, he is for ever lost.
As meteors vanish, which the seas exhale,
As torrents in the drought of summer fail,
So perish'd man from death shall never rise,
But sleep in silent shades with seal'd-up eyes,
While the celestial orbs in order roll,
And turn their flames about the steadfast pole.
O that Thou would'st conceal me in the grave,
Immure with marble in that secret cave,
Until the tempest of Thy wrath were past!
A time prefix, and think of me at last!
Can man recover his departed breath?
I will expect until my change in death,
And answer at Thy call. Thou wilt renew
What Thou hast ruin'd; and my fears subdue.
But now Thou tell'st my steps, mark'st when I err,
Nor wilt the vengeance due to sin defer.
Thou in a bag hast my transgressions seal'd,
And only by their punishments reveal'd.
As mountains, toss'd by earthquakes, down are thrown,
Rocks torn up by the roots, as hardest stone
The softly-falling drops of water wear;
As inundations all before them bear,
And leave the earth abandoned; so shall
Th' aspiring hopes of man to nothing fall.
Thy wrath prevails against him ev'ry day,
Whom with a changed face Thou send'st away;
Then knows not if his sons to honour rise,
Or struggle with their strong necessities.
But here his wasting flesh with anguish burns,
And his perturbed soul within him mourns. "