|The clock of life is wound by once,
And no man has the power
To tell just where the hands will stop
At late or early hour.
To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more;
To lose one's soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.
The present only is our own,
Live, love, toil with a 'will'
Place no faith in "tomorrow" - for
The clock may then be still.