Man’s life, like any weaver’s shuttle, flies,
Or, like a tender flowret, droops and dies,
Or, like a race, it ends without delay,
Or, like a vapour, vanishes away.
Or, like a candle, it each moment wastes,
Or, like a packet under sail, it hastes,
Or, like a post-boy, gallops very fast,
Or, like the shadow of a cloud, ’tis past.
Strong is our foe, but very weak the fort,
Our death is certain, and our time is short ;
But as the hour of death’s a secret still,
Let us be ready, come he, when he will.
(Rees Prichard)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Life Poems, Time Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Past Poems, Secrets PoemsBased on Keywords: flowret, post-boy