Tyrant of Man! Imperious Fate!
I bow before your dread decree;
Nor do I hope in this uncertain state
To find a seat secure from thee.
Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,
With many a care and sorrow foul;
Yet thoughtless mortals vainly think
That it can yield a limpid bowl.
Don't think that stream will backward flow,
Or cease its destined course to keep;
As soon the blazing spark shall glow
Beneath the surface of the deep.
Don't believe Fate, at your command,
Will grant a reward she never gave;
As soon the airy tower shall stand
That's built upon a passing wave.
Life is a sleep of seventy years;
Death tells us to wake and greet the light;
And man, with all his hopes and fears,
Is but a phantom of the night.