Classic Poem

Time fades the lustre of the moon
The blossoms of the Spring decay,
And melancholy age shall soon,
Chase our joyous youth away.

Already we begin to fail
Beneath the weight of fruitless cares
Nor can our tears nor sighs avail
To renovate our dying years.

Quit then my soul this tainted earth
Yet raise thy prospects higher
Still mindful of thine Heavenly birth
To immortality aspire.