“There’s a glory over the face of Youth—
And Age as fair a light displays,
When beautiful Love and spotless Truth
Have guided all her ways!
“But Sin is a hideous thing to see,
His eyes are dulled before his prime,
And each year leaveth the mark of three,
For he hurries the hand of Time!”
Thus spake the awaiting Angel Death,
By a way-side beggar-crone,