Life's Clock
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.





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