Keeping up with Time

(Convalescing)

Then Death peer in, but passes by,
We start the race again; a sigh —
Or one deep breath to brace us up —
For old Time runs to win the cup.
He never stops, when mortals die,
Though their estate be low or high,
The hours may lag and drag the day
But still he paces out the way.
The strong may go — and yet hold sway
Long after spirit leaves cold clay;
For each fulfils a destined place
In God's good plan for old Time's race.