The storm and tempest coming on,
The sky with clouds is overcast,
Till weary of their toil and care,
They sink in darkness and despair.
And some, whose sunny hopes have fled,
Like th’ withered and deserted flower,
On which no tenderness is shed,—
They sicken in a single hour;
And e’en in youth and beauty’s bloom,
Are ushered to the silent tomb.