Classic Poem

A sage once said to me:
" Of two things warn I thee,
And one is death.
No skill can stay his arm;
'Gainst him avails no charm,
Prayers are but wasted breath.

" When death is standing near,
All vain is friendship's tear
Or love's wild woe.
Then turn thee to the wall,
Away from friends and all,
Only to wait his blow.

" That other thing is want,
Potent the soul to daunt,
To curse and blight.
On him that hath not gold
The very sun shines cold,
And maketh no day bright.

" Friends wail to see thee die;
From poverty they fly,
Nor heed its call.
Who dies hath lived his day;
The poor can truly say:
" We have not lived at all." "