Life's Clock

The clock of life is wound but 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 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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