| My life is measured by this glasse, this glasse
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| By all those little Sands that through passe
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| And see how they press, see how they strive, which shall
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| With greatest speed and greatest quickness fall
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| And see how they raise a little Mount, and then
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| With their own weight do level it again
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| But when they have all got thorough, they give over
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| Their nimble sliding downe, and move no more
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| Just such is man whose houres still forward run
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| Being almost finished 'ere they are begun;
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| So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we That ere we are, ought at all, we cease to be Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly
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| And while we sleep, what do we else but die?
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| How transient are our Joys, and how short their day!
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| They creep on towards us, but fly away
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| How stinging are our sorrows! |
| Where they gain
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| But the least footing, there they will remain
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| And how groundless are our hopes, how they deceive
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| Our childish thoughts, and only sorrow leave!
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| and how real are our fears! |
| They blast us still
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| Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill;
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| How senseless are our wishes, yet how great!
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| With what toil we pursue them, and with what sweat!
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| Yet most times for our hurts, so small we seem
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| Like Children crying for some Mercury
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| And this gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head
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| Knows not what cares wait on the Marriage bed
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| And this vowes Virginity, yet knows not what
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| Loneness, grief, and discontent attends that state
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| Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold
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| And yet how many have been choked with Gold?
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| This only hunts for honour, yet who shall
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| Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall?
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| This thirsts for knowledge, yet how is it bought?
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| With many a sleepless night and racking thought
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| This needs will travel, yet how dangers lay
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| Most secret Ambuscados in the way
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| These triumph in their Beauty, though it shall
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| Like a pluck’t Rose or fading Lilly fall
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| Another boasts strong armes, alas Giants have
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| By silly Dwarfes been dragged unto their grave
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| These ruffle in rich silk, though ne’re so gay
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| A well plume’d Peacock is more gay than they
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| Poore man, what Art! |
| A Tennis ball of Errour!
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| A ship of Glasse, toss’d in a Sea of terrour!
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| Issuing in blood and sorrow from the womb
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| Crawling in tears and mourning to the tomb!
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| How slippery are thy paths, and how sure thy fall
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| How art thou Nothing when thou art most of all?!? |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hourglass (For Diana) , by - Current 93. Song from the album Calling For Vanished Faces, in the genre Альтернатива