Pride and death; or, The vanity of life and riches.
Why doth the man of riches grow
To insolence and pride,
To see his wealth and honors flow
With every rising tide?
Not all his treasures can procure
His soul a short reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.
He sees the brutish and the wise,
The tim'rous and the brave,
Quit their possessions, close their eyes,
And hasten to the grave.
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."
Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are lost,
How soon his memory dies!
His name is written in the dust
Where his own carcass lies.
This is the folly of their way;
And yet their sons, as vain,
Approve the words their fathers say,
And act their works again.
Men void of wisdom and of grace,
If honor raise them high,
Live like the beast, a thoughtless race,
And like the beast they die.