The House-Builder

Whate’er thou purposest to do,
With an unwearied zeal pursue;
To-day is thine--improve to-day,
Nor trust to-morrow’s distant ray.

A certain man a house would build,
The place is with materials fill’d;
And every thing is ready there--
Is it a difficult affair?
Yes! till you fix the corner stone;
It won’t erect itself alone.
Day rolls on day, and year on year,
And nothing yet is done--
There’s always something to delay
The business to another day.

And thus in silent waiting stood
The piles of stone and piles of wood;
Till Death, who in his vast affairs
Ne’er puts things off--as men in theirs--
And thus, if I the truth must tell,
Does his work finally and well--
Winked at our hero as he past,
“Your house is finish’d, Sir, at last;
A narrower house--a house of clay--
Your palace for another day!”