Back and forth, to and fro.
Rise and fall like seas billow.
What is man and where is he?
Should he even begin,
through this poor window he sees?
For,
The day he was formed, he knoweth not.
A soul, a conscience, which of this he brought?
Who breathes his existence,
Where can he hide?
None lived but behold filled,
the pages of his life.
Watchmen tremble, mighty men stoop,
Grinding ones cease, for they are few.
Windows dim, sounds fade,
Almond tree blossoms, say
when comes the day?
Oh! 'tis now, "before", is now.
Before your body goes to waste,
Your soul, back to God who gave.
Teach us then to number our days,
Hands on the plow, ahead is the race.
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