With His life and His will sublime,
May see that the May-fly and the Man
Each flutter out the same small span;
And the fly that is born with the sinking sun,
To die ere the midnight hour,
May have deeper joy, ere his course be run,
Than man in his pride and power;
And the insect’s minutes be spared the fears
And the anxious doubts of our threescore years.
The years and the minutes are as one—