Doomed to decay are all things here;
Whate'er their form or worth,
Color and beauty disappear,
Or turn to mother earth.
The luscious fruits which please the taste
And please the eye as well,
Sometimes reduced to rot and waste,
Ere from the tree they fell —
Some gathered with a gentle hand,
And stored away with care,
To serve a place in banquet grand,
Some favorite peach or pear,
Is found diseased in skin and core,
And loathsome to the sight,
When‘ tis too late to gather more,
And comes the festal night.
So is it with all earthly joy —
It pleases for a time,
As toy may please a growing boy,
Though costing but a dime;
But soon he tires and asks for more,
Appropriate to his age;
So, though a man may higher soar
And greater aims engage
His active mind, he, like the child,
Soon looks for something new.
Too oft are men by this beguiled
And fail to find the true.
But he who goes to Christ for rest,
Finds fruit that ne'er decays.
He sups with Christ as welcome guest,
And glory crowns his days.