These gifts in Fortune's hands are found;

Her swift revolving wheel turns round, And they are gone!

No rest the inconstant goddess knows, But changing, and without repose, Still hurries on.

Even could the hand of avarice save
Its gilded baubles, till the grave
Reclaimed its prey,

Let none on such poor hopes rely;
Life, like an empty dream, flits by,
And where are they?

Earthly desires and sensual lust
Are passions springing from the
dust,

They fade and die;

But, in the life beyond the tomb, They seal the immortal spirit's doom Eternally!

The pleasures and delights, which mask

In treacherous smiles life's serious task,

What are they, all,

But the fleet coursers of the chase, And death an ambush in the race, Wherein we fall?

No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, Brook no delay,- but onward speed With loosened rein;

And, when the fatal snare is near. We strive to check our mad career, But strive in vain.

Could we new charms to age impart,
And fashion with a cunning art
The human face,

As we can clothe the soul with light,
And make the glorious spirit bright
With heavenly grace, -