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38 Rome

Farewell, honor's empty pride, 
Thy own nice, uncertain gust, 
If the least mischance betide, 
Lays thee lower than the dust: 
Worldly honors end in gall, 
Rise today, tomorrow fall. 

Never shall my wand'ring mind 
Follow after fleeting toys, 
Since in God alone I find 
Solid and substantial joys; 
Joys, that never overpast, 
Through eternity shall last.

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