OH, what a thing is man! how farre from power, From settled peace and rest! He is some twentie sev'rall men at least Each sev'rall houre. One while he counts of heaven, as of his treasure; But then a thought creeps in, And calls him coward, who for fear of sinne Will lose a pleasure. Now he will fight it out, and to the warres; Now eat his bread in peace, And snudge in quiet: now he scorns increase; Now all day spares. He builds a house, which quickly down must go, As if a whirlwinde blew And crusht the building: and it's partly true, His minde is so. O what a sight were man, if his attires Did alter with his minde! And, like a dolphins skinne, his clothes combin'd With his desires! Surely, if each one saw anothers heart, There would be no commerce, No sale or bargain passe: all would disperse, And live apart. Lord, mend or rather make us; one creation Will not suffice our turn: Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn Our own salvation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO FORTUNE by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 130 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE YOUNG CARPENTER by AL-RUSAFI OFF MESOLONGI by ALFRED AUSTIN FIRST NIGHT-FLIGHT by MARGARET BODEN LINES; TO ONE WHO WISHED TO READ A POEM I HAD WRITTEN by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA |