Our lives like hasting streams must be,
That into one engulphing sea
Are doomed to fall:
The sea of Death, whose waves roll on,
O’er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all.
Alike the river’s lordly tide,
Alike the humble riv’lets glide
To that sad wave;
Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side
Within the grave.
Our birth is but the starting place,
Life is the running of the race,
And death the goal:
There all our steps at last are brought,
That path alone, of all unsought,
Is found of all.