Time’s finger on the dial of my life Points to high noon! And yet the half-spent day Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark, Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.
To those who burn the candle to the stick, The sputtering socket yields but little light. Long life is sadder than early death. We cannot count on raveled threads of age Whereof to weave a fabric. We must use The warp and woof the ready present yields And toils while daylight lasts. When I bethink How brief the past, the future still more brief, Calls on to action, action! Not for me Is time for retrospection or for dreams, Not time for self-laudation or remorse. Have I done nobly? Then I must not let Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame. Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter taste Of fruit that turned to ashes on my lip Be my reminder in temptations hour, And keep me silent when I could condemn. Sometimes it takes the acid of a sin To cleanse the clouded windows of our souls So pity may shine through them.
Looking back, My faults and errors seem like stepping-stones That led the way to knowledge of the truth And made me value virtue: sorrows shine In rainbow colours o’er the gulf of years, Where lie forgotten pleasures.
Looking forth, Out to the westers sky still bright with noon, I feel well spurred and booted for the strife That ends not till Nirvana is attained.
Battling with fate, with men and with myself, Up the steep summit of my life’s forenoon, Three things I learned, three things of precious worth To guide and help me down the western slope. I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save. To pray for courage to receive what comes, Knowing what comes to be divinely sent. To toil for universal good, since thus And only thus can good come unto me. To save, by giving whatsoe’er I have To those who have not, this alone is gain.