The clock of life is wound but once,
And no one has the power,
To say just when 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.
~Robert H. Smith~