The flow of time erodes the form of man

And carves our youthful flesh with furrows deep,

In harmony with heaven’s fearful plan.

As time unreels the thread of human span

Toward our end we do un-resting creep,

The flow of time erodes the form of man.

Not beauty, honor, power nor wisdom can

Belay the hand that round the clock does sweep,

In harmony with heaven’s fearful plan.

For in the end we make our final stand

And ever neath the loamy soil must sleep,

The flow of time erodes the form of man.

Let folks then say we never walked but ran

And used our time to sow as well as reap,

In harmony with heaven’s fearful plan.

We never thought ourselves as better than

Nor took the time to pity self nor weep,

We knew that time erodes the form of man

In harmony with heaven’s fearful plan.