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1 Why doth the man of riches grow
To insolence and pride,
To see his wealth and honors flow
With every rising tide.
2 [Why doth he treat the poor with scorn,
Made of the self same clay,
And boast as tho' his flesh was born
Of better dust than they?]
3 Not all his treasures can procure,
His soul a short reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.
4 [Life is a blessing can't be sold,
The ransom is too high;
Justice will ne'er be bribed with gold,
That man may never die.]
5 He sees the brutish and the wise,
The tim'rous and the brave,
Quit their possessions, close their eyes,
And hasten to the grave.
6 Yet 'tis his inward thought and pride,
"My house shall ever stand:
"And that my name may long abide,
"I'll give it to my land."
7 Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are lost,
How soon his memory dies!
His name is written in the dust
Where his own carcase lies.
Pause.
8 This is the folly of their way,
And yet their sons as vain;
Approve the words their fathers say,
And act their works again.
9 Men void of wisdom and of grace,
If honor raise them high,
Live like the beast, a tho'tless race,
And like the beast they die.
10 [Laid in the grave like silly sheep,
Death feeds upon them there,
Till the last trumpet break their sleep,
In terror and despair.]
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Why doth the man of riches grow |
Title: | Pride and Death; or, The Vanity of Life & Riches |
Meter: | Common Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1780 |
Scripture: |