The Clock of Life
is wound but once,
And no man has
the power To tell
just where the
hands will stop
At late or early hour.
To lose one's Wealth
is sad indeed:
To lose one's Health is more
To lose one's Soul
is such a loss
As no man can restore.
The present only is our own,
Live, Love, toil with a will.
Place no faith in 'tomorrow
For the clock may then be still.
