The Ephemeron

What is man in all his glory, All his boasted power below? Wouldst thou trace the humbling story, To the poor ephemeron go.

View the feeble, fluttering creature, Hasty sojourner, yet gay; Emblem of thy mortal nature, Dying reptile of a day.

Soon the infant's smiling morning Must to evening shades give way; Made of dust, to dust returning, Life is but a fleeting day.

Vain is youth, and beauty's power, Vain the wisdom of the wise; Death, at his appointed hour, Hurls the dart—the creature dies.

What are honours? what are treasures? Glittering vanities at best; Nor can all the worldling's pleasures Yield one hour of solid rest.

Helpless worm, the Lord invites thee To take refuge in his breast: From the danger that affrights thee, Fly, and hush thy fears to rest.

Grant me, Lord, an ear to hear thee, Give an heart renew'd by grace, While this life endures, to fear thee, And supremely seek thy face.

So, when call'd to yield my spirit Into thine all-gracious hand, I shall endless life inherit, In the blest Immanuel's land.