Seems constantly, methinks, repeating,
Swift! swift! the moments fly.
Reader, be ready,—for perhaps before
These hands have made one revolution more,
Life’s spring is snapt,—you die!
Here, reader, see in youth, in age, or prime,
The stealing steps of never-standing Time:
With wisdom mark the moment as it flies;
Think what a moment is to him who dies.
Little monitor, impart