The Lord of Death is paid in bitter coin
For dissolution, hoping he’ll rejoin
The scattered parts, far better rearranged,
For callous Death’s decrees cannot be changed.
“Accept thy fated end,” he doth enjoin.

The Wheel of Fortune turns; while one declines
Another is upraised, but she assigns
The fate who holds the hidden axle pin,
The sacred source where destinies begin.
Ensure each turn of life the soul refines!

The Hero crowned by Victory drives the car
Of triumph, seeking still to venture far,
Accepting every challenge. He commands,
And masters mighty steeds with skillful hands.
Our vision’s dazzled by the Hero’s star!

No power impedes the measured step of Time,
Who eats away from everything its prime,
For nought endures for long. Yet passing years
May grant us peace and wisdom, free from fears.
Attend the tread of Time: stark, yet sublime.