Alas! how poor and little worth

Are all those glittering toys of earth

That lure us here!

Dreams of a sleep that death must break:

Alas! before it bids us wake,

They disappear.

2 Where is the strength that spurned decay,

The step that rolled so light and gay,

The heart’s blithe tone?

The strength is gone, the step is slow,

And joy grows weariness and woe

When age comes on.

3 Our birth is but a starting-place;

Life is the running of the race,

And death the goal:

There all those glittering toys are brought;

That path alone, of all unsought,

Is found of all.

4 O, let the soul its slumbers break,

Arouse its senses, and awake

To see how soon

Life, like its glories, glides away,

And the stern footsteps of decay

Come stealing on.