The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just where the hands will stop —
At late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more,
To lose one's soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
Live for Christ with a will;
Place no faith in tomorrow,
For the clock may then be still.

Author Unknown