Vagorum_. It is, however, written in a lyrical
style so closely allied to the secular songs of the _Carmina Burana_
(where it occurs) that I have thought it well to quote its grimly
medieval condemnation of human life.

VANITAS VANITATUM.

No. 58.

This vile world
In madness hurled
Offers but false shadows;
Joys that wane
And waste like vain
Lilies of the meadows.

Worldly wealth,
Youth, strength, and health,
Cramp the soul's endeavour;
Drive it down
In hell to drown,
Hell that burns for ever.

What we see,
And what let be,
While on earth we tarry,
We shall cast
Like leaves at last
Which the sere oaks carry.

Carnal life,
Man's law of strife,
Hath but brief existence;
Passes, fades,
Like wavering shades
Without real subsistence.

Therefore bind,
Tread down and grind
Fleshly lusts that blight us;
So heaven's bliss
'Mid saints that kiss
Shall for aye delight us.

The fourth, in like manner, would have but little to do with a
Commersbuch, were it not for the fact that the most widely famous
modern student-song of Germany has borrowed two passages from its
serious and tragic rhythm. Close inspection of _Gaudeamus Igitur_
shows that the metrical structure of that song is based on the
principle of quoting one of its long lines and rhyming to it.

ON CONTEMPT FOR THE WORLD.

No. 59.

"De contemptu mundi:" this is the theme I've taken:
Time it is from sleep to rise, from death's torpor waken:
Gather virtue's grain and leave tares of sin forsaken.
Rise up, rise, be vigilant; trim your lamp, be ready.

Brief is life, and brevity briefly shall be ended:
Death comes quick, fears no man, none hath his dart suspended:
Death kills all, to no man's prayer hath he condescended.
Rise up, rise, be vigilant; trim your lamp, be ready.

Where are they who in this world, ere we kept, were keeping?
Come unto the churchyard, thou! see where they are sleeping!
Dust and ashes are they, worms in their flesh are creeping.
Rise up, rise, be vigilant; trim your lamp, be ready.

Into life each man is born with great teen and trouble:
All through life he drags along; toil on toil is double:
When life's done, the pangs of death take him, break the bubble.