'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
E'en as his body, into dust!
How oft the filler is mislaid;
And, rather than to seek in vain,
I use my finger in its stead,
And fancy as I feel the pain,
If coals can burn to such degree,
How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!
So in tobacco oft I find,
Lessons of such instructive type;