The things of earth are false, as fair,
And glitter to betray,
They scarce outlive the sunny glare
Of one short summer day.

The hours--how rapid in their flight,
And days pass swift away,
Scarce dawning ere the shades of night
Chase its bright beams away.

The dew-drop trembling on the flow'r,
Gemm'd by the morning's ray,--
Glitters scarce one little hour,
Ere it is dried away.

The butterfly with gilded wing,
That flits from spray to spray,
Is but an evanescent thing,
That passeth soon away.

The flow'rs--those gay and brilliant things,
So charming to the eye,
Soon fold their withered petals up,
And fade away and die.

The busy bee, with drowsy hum,
That through the summer day,
Flies sipping round from flow'y to flow'r,
Bearing its sweets away,

Is soon constrain'd by wintry winds,
To seek her honi'd cell,
And giving o'er her wandering life,
In quiet there, to dwell.

And rosy health that paints the cheek
With richest crimson dye,
And bids the heart of kindness speak
From beauty's flashing eye,

Soon, soon withdraws the blushing rose,
And leaves the lily there:
Bedims the lustre of the eye,
And pales the cheek with care.

I saw a smiling infant stand
By its fond mother's side:
She fondly pressed one dimpl'd hand
With sweet maternal pride.

Her form was faultless to behold,
And every infant grace
Beam'd sweetly from her radiant eye,
And rosy dimpl'd face.

But sudden stiffness seiz'd those limbs,
A gurgling stopp'd her breath:
Those eyes that shone so bright before,
Were soon upturn'd in death.

And love that fills the youthful breast,
With visions bright and gay,
Oft strews his downy nest with thorns,
And quickly flies away.

And friendship, that peculiar boon,
From God to mortals given,
That seems a brilliant golden link,
Uniting earth with heaven,

Is broken off, and often turn'd
With careless heart away,
And hatred fills the self same place
Where gentle love had sway.

But oh! how poison'd is the dart
That sheds its venom there,
And drives uncherish'd from the heart,
The gift so good and fair.

An aching void must ever dwell
Within the stricken heart;
For who can all the suff'ring tell
When friends in hatred part?

Then do not fondly cling to earth,
Where all things must decay:
Where happiness scarce has its birth
Ere it is swept away.

Lean not on earth, 'twill pierce the heart,
At best a broken reed,
And oft a spear where hope expires,
And peace as often bleeds.

But far beyond yon azure sky,
Yon sparkling star-lit dome,
Let your aspiring hopes ascend,
For there's your heav'nly home.