Vanity Of The World

God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard will do your soul no good; Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world's esteem is but a bribe, To buy their peace you sell your own; The slave of a vain-glorious tribe, Who hate you while they make you known. The joy that vain amusements give, Oh! sad conclusion that it brings! The honey of a crowded hive, Defended by a thousand stings. 'Tis thus the world rewards the fools That live upon her treacherous smiles: She leads them blindfold by her rules, And ruins all whom she beguiles. God knows the thousands who go down From pleasure into endless woe; And with a long despairing groan Blaspheme their Maker as they go. O fearful thought! be timely wise: Delight but in a Saviour's charms, And God shall take you to the skies, Embraced in everlasting arms.