I

Madonna mine, the while the fleeting years
In their swift courses come and pass away,
And nearer bring the time when we, like they,
Shall cease to be; when neither hopes, nor fears,
Nor all the love which life to us endears,
Within our bosoms longer wield their sway,
And the stilled pulses of of our hearts obey
No more the voice of joy, nor plaint of tears:
Bear with us if we lift our eyes to thee,
Who felt the shortness and the length of life;
Who knew, albeit therefrom thou wast free,
The many snares which in this world are rife,
And ask thee, while our years are yet to be,
For strength to conquer in their ceaseless strife.

II

A little while, and lo, in flight as swift
As the old year, which faster still and fast
Loses itself within the misty past,
We too shall vanish from men's gaze, and drift
Across that stream whose shadows never lift,
Except to those who have its waters passed:
A few more days, and what we have amassed
For heaven will be the measure of our thrift.
Teach us that wisdom then, Madonna, which
Rates time aright while time still perseveres;
So that when hence, from our allotted niche,
Death comes to call us unto other spheres,
The deeds which we have wrought may make us rich
Through the whole length of God's eternal years.