"It is all empty,” the old preacher said.
We are born and live, but soon we are dead.
The sun it shines; the wind it blows.
Oceans never filled; though the stream, it flows.
Same old thing, day after day;
The world is so tired, but what can we say?
Never satisfied; it is never enough.
"Stack it high, and get more stuff."
Nothing new, the songs are so old.
The summers are hot, the winters so cold.
No one remembers; no one will care.
Just walk into the dark; and embrace your despair.
Search and look; see if you can find,
Traces that remain that they left behind.
Their names are recalled but they are not here.
Seldom a dream and rarely a tear.
Just a shell, which will soon be gone;
She will be left here and be all-alone.
But not for long, for she is on the same train.
Riding the circuit for reaons no one cannot explain.
You see nothing changes, it just goes around.
The voices are all different but still the same sound.
The crooked remains, not to be made straight.
Death is soon coming, there is no escape.
Chasing the wind and trying to grasp;
A meaningful future that is locked in the past;
Such is life now, here under the sun.
It is over in a second; it had hardly begun.
Thoughts on Ecclesiastes Chapter One
What is the purpose of Ecclesiastes?
It is to bring out into clear view, the chief good–the true happiness of man, in what it does not consist–not in the wisdom, pleasures, honors, and riches of the world–in what it does consist–the enjoyment and service of God. Beggars we are, with all of the riches of the Indies, without Him. He is the substitute for everything. Nothing can be a substitute for Him. The world is full of graspers–and alas; they grasp in vain. They only draw in air. They know not where the true substance lies–in Him–the supreme good and satisfying portion–in His service–no hard and gloomy exercise but full of liberty and joy. Charles Bridges