But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

I wish my Sun may never set, but burn.

My hope and treasure lies above

Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.

There is no object that we see; no action that we do; no good that we enjoy; no evil that we feel, or fear, but we may make some spiritual advantage of all: and he that makes such improvement is wise, as well as pious.

But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.