Man passes down the way of years,
And ruins mark his trail;
He buildeth and the hand of time
Wipes out his structures frail.

Upon the graves of greatness past
New monuments are placed,
And they in turn by fleeting years
Are ruthlessly effaced.

His hopes, ambitions, loves and hates,
Endure but a single day,
Then by the ever-busy hand of time,
All are swept away.

His glory shineth for a space,
And spreads its light, its brilliant light,
Then fades, then fades,
Into eternal night.

Thrones crumble, fall and are no more,
And nations grand decay,
And power sinks to nothingness,
And wealth abideth but a day.

Fame from its lofty pedestal
Disdainfully is tost,
But to the world no worthy deed
Or thought is ever lost.