All things to end are made

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, whos 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...