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ECCLESIASTES XII.
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth*
Remember thy Creator
While the pulse of youth beats high ;
While the evil days come not,
Nor the weary years draw nigh,
When man can find no pleasure
In the hollow things of earth,
And the heart turns sick and sad,
From the jarring sound of mirth.
Ere the light of stars is darkened,
Ere the glorious sun grows dim,
And the bitter cup of sorrow
Is filling to the brim ;
When the grinder's song is low,
And the wailing mourners come.
Marching in the death-procession,
As man aroeth to his home.
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Ere the golden bowl be broken,
Or the silver cord unwound,
The pitcher shattered, at the well
The broken wheel be found.
In the day when keepers tremble,
And the strong men bow the knee;
Then shall dust to dust return,
And to God the spirit flee.
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