But Man Grows Old, Lies

We Must, Therefore, Be Here As Strangers And Pilgrims, That We May Plainly Declare That We Seek A City Above.

The Stones And Trees, Insensible To Time, / Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen; / If Winter Come, And Greenness Then Do Fade / A Spring Returns, And They More Youthful Made; / But Man Grows Old, Lies Down, Remains Where Once He's Laid.

And Time Brings Down What Is Both Strong And Tall. But Plants New Set To Be Eradicate, And Buds New Blown, To Have So Short A Date, Is By His Hand Alone That Guides Nature And Fate.

The World No Longer Lets Me Love, My Hope And Treasure Are Above.

It Is Reported Of The Peacock That Priding Himself In His Gay Feathers He Ruffles Them Up; But Spying His Black Feet He Soon Lets Fall His Plumes. So He That Glories In His Gifts And Adornings Should Look Upon His Corruptions, And That Will Damp His High Thoughts.