Song of the Fates

In garments white, with crowns of gold, Preside the Sister Fates that hold Their seats on high, the world above, Beneath the throne of thund'ring Jove. Amid the Sirens in a ring, Alternate thus they spin and sing: ' Souls of a day, ' Away, away! ' Another crop of mortal race, ' This quickly gone, shall come in place. ' Turn the whirl, the spindle turn, ' Mortals laugh and mortals mourn!

' HAPPY those who life employ ' In social sense and genial joy, ' Far from horrid haunts of war, ' From rapine and injustice far. ' Turn the whirl, the spindle turn, ' Mortals laugh and mortals mourn!

' LET wretches tremble at their fate, ' Who truth regard with ranc'rous hate, ' For Jove hath linked with their crimes, ' The dire events of future times. ' Turn the whirl, the spindle turn, ' Mortals laugh and mortals mourn!'

THE Siren-chorus join the song, And in full harmony prolong, ' Souls of a day, ' Away, away! ' Another crop of mortal race, ' This quickly gone, shall come in place. ' Turn the whirl, the spindle turn, ' Mortals laugh and mortals mourn!'