WHAT is a day, what is a year Of vain delight and pleasure? Like to a dream it endless dies, And from us like a vapour flies: And this is all the fruit that we find, Which glory in worldly treasure. He that will hope for true delight, With virtue must be graced; Sweet folly yields a bitter taste, Which ever will appear at last: But if we still in virtue delight, Our souls are in heaven placed. |