Like to the falling of a star Or as the flights of eagles are Or like the fresh springs gaudy hue Or silver drops of morning dew Like a mind that chafes the flood Or bubbles which on water stood Even such is man, who's borrowed light Is raped from life and paid to night The mind blows out, the bubbles dies The spring entombed in autumn lies The dew dries up, the star is shot The light is past and man forgot All things to end are made... No age, nor grief or sickness must Marry my body to the dust And think not much of my delay Towards the end, I'm on my way... Each minute is a short degree And every hour a step towards thee Glow or fast my marches may be I shall at last, bow down by thee All things to end are made...