Many years ago, I read a book in which it revealed some gangster had been shot dead in Chicago, the police are said to have found the following poem in his pocket.
The clock of life is wound but once
And no man hath the power
To tell just where the hands will stop,
At late or early hour.
To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more.
To lose one's soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.
Now is the only time you have
Live, love, toil at will.
Place no faith in 'time
For the clock may soon be still.
Psalm 90:12 So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
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