Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will,
The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking watermill;
Nor wait until to-morrow's light beams brightly on thy way.
For all that thou canst call thine own, lies in the phrase, "to-day;"
Possessions, power, and blooming health, must all be lost at last—
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Oh! love thy God and fellow man, thyself consider last,
For come it will when they must scan dark errors of the past;
Soon will this fight of life be o'er, and earth recede from view,
And heaven in all its glory shine where all is pure and true.