Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass <br />That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days, <br />And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says, <br />To every human heart: so mortals pass <br />On to their dark and silent grave! Alas <br />For man! an exile upon earth he strays, <br />Weary, and wandering through benighted ways; <br />To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass <br />That withers at his feet!--Lift up thy head, <br />Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears; <br />That book declares whose blood for thee was shed, <br />Who died to give thee life; and though thy years <br />Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed, <br />Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears, <br />And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led!<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hour-glass-and-bible/
