Our bodies are but the anvils of pain and disease and our minds the hives of unnumbered cares.
Walter RaleighEven such isTime, which takes in trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust, Who in the dark and silent grave When we have wandered all our ways Shuts up the story of our days, And from which earth, and grave, and dust The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
Walter Raleigh