A Loaf Of Bread, A Jug Of

Dust Into Dust, And Under Dust To Lie, Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, And-sans End!

Indeed The Idols I Have Loved So Long, Have Done My Credit In This World Much Wrong; Have Drowned My Glory In A Shallow Cup, And Sold My Reputation For A Song.

This Body Is A Tent Which For A Space Does The Pure Soul With Kingly Presence Grace; When He Departs, Comes The Tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes It, And Moves To A New Halting-place.

To-day Is Thine To Spend, But Not To-morrow; Counting On Morrows Breedeth Bankrupt Sorrow: O Squander Not This Breath That Heaven Hath Lent Thee; Make Not Too Sure Another Breath To Borrow.

Realise This: One Day Your Soul Will Depart From Your Body And You Will Be Drawn Behind The Curtain That Floats Between Us And The Unknown. While You Wait For That Moment, Be Happy, Because You Don't Know Where You Came From And You Don't Know Where You Will Be Going.