Round and round and round it goes; what it means there’s no one knows.
Wind blows north and then blows south, Streams run sea-ward to their mouths.
All seems vainly just to boil. What’s the worth of ceaseless toil?
Diligence won’t make it known, nor has data ever shown:
rightness rests on those who own. Knowledge has been overblown.
Here’s the mantra to intone, “Knowing more means more you groan.”
Work itself is hateful waste, think of how you spend your days.
Since you can’t keep what you earn, might as well just let it burn.
Foolish heirs each take a share, scattering it who knows where?
Massive wealth, that vanity, offers false security.
Spendthrift daughter, lazy son, soon will see it gone and done.
Why exist as Mammon’s slave, just to leave it to a knave?
Source: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23
Text: David Alexander, 2022 CC BY-SA NC 4.0
Tune: Ratisbon, Public Domain
Audio: www.smallchurchmusic.com Used by Permission