Life is a span, a fleeting hour
C. M.
1
Life is a span, a fleeting hour,How soon the vapor flies!Man is a tender, transient flower,That e'en in blooming—dies.
2
The once loved form, now cold and dead,Each mournful thought employs;And nature weeps her comforts fled,And withered all her joys.
3
Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,When what we now deploreShall rise in full, immortal prime,And bloom to fade no more.
4
Cease, then, fond nature, cease thy tears—Thy Savior dwells on high;There everlasting Spring appears—There joys shall never die.