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The Clock of Life is Wound But Once

The clock of life is wound but once
And no man has the power
To tell just when 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
That no man can restore.

The present is our own,
So live love, toil with a will
Place no faith in “tomorrow,”
For the clock may then be still.

Robert H Smith