Lyrics

Oh what a thing is man! how farre from power, From setled peace and rest! He is some twentie sev'rall men at least Each sev'rall houre. One while he counts of heav'n, as of his treasure: But then a thought creeps in, And calls him coward, who for fear of sinne Will lose a pleasure. Now he will fight it out, and to the warres; Now eat his bread in peace, And snudge1 in quiet: now he scorns increase; Now all day spares. He builds a housе, which quickly down must go, As if a whirlwinde blew And crusht the building; and it's partly truе, His minde is so. O what a sight were Man, if his attires Did alter with his minde; And like a Dolphins skinne, his clothes combin'd With his desires! Surely if each one saw anothers heart, There would be no commerce, No sale or bargain passe: all would disperse, And live apart. Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation Will not suffice our turn: Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn Our own salvation.