A moment of contemplation

I have a sneaking suspicion that waking up to a damp, miserable and rain laden morning, is responsible for my contemplative mood. 

It brought to mind the lines of a poem I once heard as a child. 'The clock of life.' 

I was never able to remember the whole version or who had penned it, as a result developed my own version from the lines that I could remember.

The clock of life is wound but once,

no man may say when or where

the clock will stop.

Love, live toil with a will,

place no faith in tomorrow,

for the clock

may then be still.

Through the wonders of the Internet age, I have since located the original in all it's glory and whilst I quite like my abridged version, the original deserves an airing.

"The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour. 

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed.
Too lose one's health is more.
To lose one's soul is such a loss
That no man can restore." 

Today, only is our own.
So live, love and toil with a will.
Place no faith in tomorrow,
For the clock may soon be still.

Robert H Smith

Copyright 1932 

I apologise for the break in my usual programming. Normal service shall be resumed momentarily.