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
That no man can restore.
The present only is our own
To seek to do God's Will.
Tomorrow hold no promise,
For the Clock may then be still.
