Value Of Time Poem by John Bowring

The days of mortal man
Are vain, and swiftly gone;
Yet virtuous thoughts and deeds
May hallow ev'ry one;
There's not a day
Or hour but brings
Or truth or joy
Upon its wings.


We waste our fleeting lives,
Indifferent to the thought
That our eternal fate
In this brief scene is wrought:
The hours of earth
Contain the doom-
The awful doom-
Of time to come.


Then let us lose no more
The precious moments giv'n
To pilgrims of the earth
To light their way to heav'n:
But sanctify
Such hours as this,
And fit our souls
For heav'nly bliss.