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But pallid sickness bow'd its head,
And made its little bosom heave,
And soon it lay, all cold and dead,
Within the dark and silent grave.
And made its little bosom heave,
And soon it lay, all cold and dead,
Within the dark and silent grave.
Thus all things pass away;
There's nothing on the earth can last
Ambition's bulwarks all decay,—
Even Time itself is fading fast.
There's nothing on the earth can last
Ambition's bulwarks all decay,—
Even Time itself is fading fast.
NINE VERSES OF THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER OF CORINTHIANS.
Though I with angel eloquence may speak,
And tongues of wisest men my language form,
If charity be not the end I seek,
My words are but a noisy senseless storm;
As sounding brass, or tinkling cymbal's note,
My speech upon the empty air will float.
And tongues of wisest men my language form,
If charity be not the end I seek,
My words are but a noisy senseless storm;
As sounding brass, or tinkling cymbal's note,
My speech upon the empty air will float.
What though the gift of prophecy be mine,
And all the knowledge ancient lore can give;
Though I have power all mysteries to define,
And faith-removing mountains to achieve,
Without sweet charity all this is nought,—
Still I am nothing, useless, vain, untaught.
And all the knowledge ancient lore can give;
Though I have power all mysteries to define,
And faith-removing mountains to achieve,
Without sweet charity all this is nought,—
Still I am nothing, useless, vain, untaught.
