Ah, fading joy, how quickly art thou past!
Yet we thy ruin haste;
As if the cares of human life were few,
We seek out new,
And follow fate that does too fast pursue.
See how on every bough the birds express
In their sweet notes their happiness;
They all enjoy and nothing spare,
But on their mother nature lay their care.
Why then should man, the lord of all below,
Such troubles choose to know
As none of all his subjects undergo?
‖: Hark! :‖ the waters ‖: fall, :‖ (×3)
And with a murmuring sound
‖: Dash :‖ upon the ground
To gentle slumber’s call.