One morning as the sun came up,
Before the flowers opened,
Methought I saw a visage dim
Belonging to some long-lost friend,
But then it vanished in the wind.
Oh! the crags and the clefts in the mountains of vainglory.
May no one ever come this way to tell the sage their story.
For he who prides himself
Will never hear.
I stand upon the shores of time,
Look 鈥榗ross the raging ocean.
The other side is none too bright;
Though dimmed by glory鈥檚 golden light,
The ages ever roll along.
Their ancient knowledge takes me back
To centuries forgotten.
The tongues of yore bring life again
To men who in their graves have lain
Full many years, and even more.
Oh! the crags and the clefts in the mountains of vainglory.
May no one ever come this way to tell the sage their story.
For he who prides himself
Will never hear.
A watched pot never boils, they say;
Perhaps that saying鈥檚 true.
I never stick around to see
(That proverb makes no sense to me);
I鈥檇 rather spend my day with you.
Full many have passed from this earth,
They lived, they loved, they died here.
Think not that you鈥檙e the best to live,
But rather to your fellows give;
Allow your pride to disappear.