Till full perfection crowned the spray.
Then straight we see it fade apace,
And lose each vivifying grace;
And ev’ry balmy leaf we find,
Is shortly given to the wind.
Watch, then, says Time, each hour you live,
Nor with ill deeds my spirit grieve;
From first beginning is my birth,
And for your good, ye sons of earth;
O, fill the Father’s high behest,