The hour-glass speeds its final sands,
In splendor sinks the golden sun,
So men must yield to death's demands
When human life its course has run.
We view the ruins of the past,
We stand surrounded by decay,
Our transient hours are speeding fast
And, e'er we think, have passed away.
Weep not, nor mourn with idle tear
That hour, inevitable and sure;
We move, our sojourn finished here,
To nobler realms which shall endure.
In Mortem Meditare.
DYING THOUGHTS.
As Life's receding sunset fades
And night descends,
I calmly watch the gathering shades,
As darkness stealthily invades
And daylight ends.
Earth's span is drawing to its close,
With every breath;
My pain-racked brain no respite knows,
Yet shrinks it, from the grim repose
It feels in death.
The curtain falls on Life's last scene,
The end is neared;
At last I face death's somber screen,
The fleeting joys which intervene
Have disappeared.