BEHOLD, fond man

—BEHOLD, fond man! See here thy pictur'd life: Pass some few years; Thy flow'ring spring, thy summer's ardent strength, Thy sober autumn fading into age, And pale-concluding winter comes at last And shuts the scene.—Ah! whither now are fled, Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes Of happiness? those longings after fame? Those restless cares? those busy bustl'ing days? Those gay-spent festive nights? those varying thoughts Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? All now are fled! Religion sole remains Immortal, never-failing friend of man, His guide to happiness on high.