1 Life is a span, a fleeting hour;
How soon the vapour flies!
Man is a tender transient flow'r,
That e'en in blooming dies.
2 Death spreads like winter's frozen arms,
And beauty smiles no more.
Ah! where are now those rising charms,
Which pleas'd our eyes before?
3 The once lov'd form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;
And nature weeps her comforts fled,
And wither'd all her joys.
4 But wait the interposing gloom,
And lo! stern winter flies;
And, drest in beauty's fairest bloom,
The flow'ry tribes arise.
5 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,
When what we now deplore
Shall rise in full immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.
6 Then cease, fond nature! cease thy tears;
Religion points on high:
There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that cannot die.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Life is a span, a fleeting hour |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1814 |
Topic: | Particular Occasions and Circumstances: On the Death of Relatives and Friends; On the death of a child |