Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
  Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
  To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of Heaven, the sun,
  The higher he ’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
  And nearer he ’s to setting.

The age is best which is the first,
  When youth and blood...