1 My days, my weeks, my months, my years,
Fly rapid as the whirling spheres
Around the steady pole:
Time, like the tide, its motion keeps,
Till I must launch through boundless deeps,
Where endless ages roll.

2 The grave is near the cradle seen:
The moments swiftly pass between,
And whisper as they fly:
Unthinking man, remember this,
Though fond of sublunary bliss,
Thou soon must gasp and die.

3 My soul, attend the solemn call:
Thine earthly tent must quickly fall,
And thou must take thy flight
Beyond the vast expansive blue,
To sing and love as angels do,
Or sink in endless night.