Devotions in the ancient way of offices. With psalms, hymns, and prayers for every day of the week and every holiday in the year. / Reformed by A person of quality, ; and published by George Hickes, D.D.

Psalm 132.

UNhappy we, the Children of Dust! why were we born to see the Sun?

Why did our Mothers bring us forth to Misery; and unkindly rejoyce to hear us cry?

Whither, alas! has their Error lead us? in how sad a condition doth our Birth en∣gage us?

We enter the World with weeping Eyes; and go out with sighing Hearts.

All the few Days we live, we are full of Vanity; and our choicest Pleasures are sprinkled with bitterness.

The time that's past is vanish'd like a Dream; and that which is to come is not yet at all.

The present we are in, stays but a mo∣ment; and then flies away, and never returns.

Already we are dead to all the Years we have liv'd; and shall never live them over again.

But the longer we live, the shorter is our Life; and in the end we become a little lump of Clay.

O vain and miserable World! how sad and true is all this Story! And yet alas! this is not all; but new Complaints re∣main, and more, and worse.

We begin our race in contemptible weakness; and our whole course is a pro∣gress of dangers.

If we escape the Mischances of a Child; we pass on to the rash adventures of Youth.

If we outlive these sudden Storms; we fall into far more malicious Calamities.

Our own superfluous Cares deliberately consume us; and the Crosses of the World wear out our Lives.

Should we by strange Success o'ercome all these; and still bear up our prosperous Head:

We are sure at last old Age will find us; and bow our Strength down to the Grave.

The Grave, from which no privilege exempts; nor any Power controuls its Command.

The Rich must leave their Wealth be∣hind 'em; and the great Ones of the World be crumbled into Dust.

The beauteous Face must be turned in∣to Rottenness; and the pamper'd Body become the food of Worms.

The busie Man must find a Time to die; though his full employment find no time to provide for it.

Even the wise and vertuous must sub∣mit to fate; and the Heirs of Life it self must be the Prisoners of Death.

This, when I see, I weep and am afraid; since we must all drink of the same cold Cup.

All must go down to the same cold Grave; and none can tell how soon he may be called.

To day we are in Health among our Friends and Affairs; to morrow arrested by the hand of Death.

Nature may faintly struggle for a time; but must yield at last, and be buried in the Earth.

At last we must take our leave of our nearest Relations; and bid a long farewel to all the World.

Perhaps the People may talk of us a while; sometimes as we deserve, and often as they please.

Perhaps our Bodies once laid out of sight; we are no more remembred than if we had never been.

Only our good Works follow us to the Grave; and faithfully go on with us be∣yond our Funerals.

Give us eternal rest, O merciful Lord; and may thy glorious Light shine upon us for ever.

Glory be to the Father, &c. As it was in the beginning, &c.