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And what is his religion but vanity?
Winslow, "The Earnest Expectation of the Renewed Creature"
"We are merely moving shadows, and
all our busy rushing, ends in nothing."
Man's origin, the earth;
his birth, degenerate;
his rank, a bauble;
his wealth, but glittering dust;
his pomp, an empty pageant;
his beauty, a fading flower;
his pursuits, an infant's play;
his honors, vexations of spirit;
his joys, fleeting as a cloud;
his life, transient as a vapor;
his final home, a grave.
Truly, "vanity" is inscribed in legible
characters on each 'created' good.
"Surely man in his best estate is altogether vanity."
And what is his religion but vanity?
His native holiness, a vain conceit;
his natural light, Egyptian darkness;
his human wisdom, egregious folly;
his religions forms, and rites, and duties,
"a vain show in the flesh;"
his most gorgeous righteousness, filthy rags.
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