Alas! how poor and little worth
Are all those glitt’ring toys of earth
That lure us here!
Dreams of a sleep that death must break:
Alas! before it bids us wake,
Where is the strength that spurned decay,
The step that rolled so light and gay,
The heart’s blithe tone?
The strength is gone, the step is slow,
And joy grows weariness and woe,
When age comes on.
Our birth is but a starting place;
Life is the running of the race,
And death the goal:
There all those glitt’ring toys are brought;
That path alone, of all unsought,
Is found of all.
Oh, let the soul it’s slumbers break,
Arouse its senses and awake
To see how soon
Life, like its glories glides away,
And the stern footsteps of decay
Come stealing on.