OLord, thou art our Home, to whom we fly, And so hast alwaies beene from Age to Age. Before the Hills did intercept the Eye, Or that the Frame was vp of Earthly Stage, One God thou wert, and art, and still shalt bee; The Line of Time, it doth not measure thee.
Both Death and Life obey thy holy lore, And visit in their turnes, as they are sent. A Thousand yeares with thee, they are no more, Then yesterday, which, ereit is, is spent: Or as a watch by night, that course doth keepe, And goes, and comes, vnwares to them that sleepe.
Thou carriest Man away as with a Tide; Then downe swim all his Thoughts, that mounted high; Much like a mocking Dreame, that will not bide, But flies before the sight of waking Eye; Or as the Grasse, that cannot terme obtaine, To see the Summer come about againe.
At Morning, faire it musters, on the Ground, At Euen it is cut downe, and laid along: And though it spared were and fauour found, The wether would performe the Mowers wrong: Thus hast thou hang dour Life on brittle Pins, To let vs know, it will not beare our Sins.
Thou buriest not within obliuious Tombe Our Trespasses, but entrest them aright: Euen those that are conceiu’d in darkenesse Wombe To thee appeare, as done at broad day light. As a Tale told, which sometimes men attend, And sometimes not, our Life steales to an end.
The Life of Man is threescore yeares and ten, Or if that he be strong, perhaps fourescore, Yet all things are but labour to him then, New sorrowes still come on, Pleasures no more: Why should there be such turmoile & such strife, To spin in length this feeble Line of Life?
But who consider’s duely of thine Ire? Or doth the thoughts thereof wisely embrace? For thou, O God, art a consuming Fire, Fraile Man, how can he stand before thy face? If thy displeasure thou do’st not refraine, A Moment brings all backe to Dust againe.
Teath vs, O Lord, to number well our Daies, Thereby our Hearts to wisdome to apply; For that, which guides Man best in all his waies, Is Meditation of Mortality. This bubble light, this vapour of our Breath, Teach vs to consecrate to Howre of Death.
Returne vnto vs Lord, and ballance now With daies of Ioy, our daies of Misery; Helpe vs right soone, our knees to thee we bow, Depending wholy on thy Clemency: Then shall thy Seruants both with heart & voice, All the daies of their Life, in thee reioyce.
Begin thy worke, O Lord, in this our Age, Shew it vnto thy Seruants that now liue; But to our Children raise it many a Stage That all the World to thee may glory giue. Our Handy worke likewise, as fruitfull Tree, Let it O Lord, blessed, not blasted be.