clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will
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
That no man can restore.
only 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
Harbor Nest Poems
by Margi Harrell
love with a poem.
"His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me."