The ruin’d temple’s sacred dust,
Are view’d with rev’rence and delight;
But man decay’d and sunk with years
And sad infirmities, appears
An object of neglect and slight.
Ah, thoughtless race! in youthful prime,
You mock the ravages of time,
As if you could elude its rage;
That piteous form which you despise,
With wrinkled front and beamless eyes;