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 Loose Ones Wealth Is Sad Indeed
To Loose Ones Health Is More
To Loose Ones 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
The Clock May Then Be Still