PSALM XLIX.

George Burgess

Wherefore should I sink with fear,
Though the evil day be here,
And the proud supplanter's heel
Pressing on my step I feel?
They that boast their wealth untold,
They that trust their treasur'd gold,
None can bid his brother live,
None to God a ransom give.

Sad they see their labour o'er,
For the ransom's price was more,
That with endless life could save,
Closing fast the conquer'd grave;
For, beneath their humbled eye,
Lo, the wise and foolish die;
And their treasure's glitt'ring heap
Other hands in turn shall keep.

Fondly hopes their dreaming heart
Splendours never to depart;
Houses, on their rocky base
Resting firm from race to race;
Yet shall many a broad domain
Bear their mighty name in vain:
Man, in pomp, shall ne'er abide,
Dying as the beast has died.

Still behind them pours a crowd,
Echoing still their follies proud;
Till, like flocks, their bones are spread,
And the grave is richly fed:
Then, above their couch forlorn
Dawns the upright's triumph morn;
Then shall God my soul release,
Then shall take me home in peace.

Fear not thou the proud man's bloom;
Naught shall follow to the tomb:
Though through all his prosp'rous days
Gave the world its selfish praise,
With his sires, in darkness deep,
He shall find inglorious sleep.
Man, in pomp, will ne'er be wise,
Dying as the beast that dies.