Life is Short

Man's life, like any weavers' shuttle flies, Or like a tender flowret fades and dies; Or like a race it ends without delay, Or like a vapour vanishes away; Or like a candle which each moment wastes, Or like a vessel under sail it hastes; Or like a post it gallops very fast, Or like a shadow of a cloud 'tis past. Our castle is but weak, and strong the foe, Our breath is short, our death is certain too; But as his coming is a secret still, Let us be ready, come death when he will.