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One little moment can destroy
Our vast laborious schemes ; And all our heaps of solid joy
Are sweet deceitful dreams.
Then rise, my soul! and soar away Above the thoughtless crowd ;
Above the pleasures of the gay, And splendours of the proud ;
Up where eternal beauties bloom,
And pleasures all divine ; Where wealth, that never can consume,
And endless glories shine !
Henry Moore. [1806.]
Though, by sorrows overtaken, Lord, thy servants seem forsaken, Thy Almighty hand, we know, Blendeth love with human woe.
Over earth, and over ocean, Claiming sinful man's devotion, Round the living and the dead, Lord, Thy boundless love is shed.
All to death in this world hasteth ; Riches vanish, beauty wasteth ; Yet within the mourner's breast Love is an undying guest.
Love, unlike all worldly pleasures, Wraps in grief its golden treasures, And to meek and wounded hearts Deep and holy joy imparts.