1. Alas! Time, ever destructive, ruins all we build
It will fade as things fade and vanish as things vanish

2. And triumph in this world is not the real triumph
The youth triumphs by gaining profit mixed with loss

3. He will be rewarded with misery for his sweet life of bliss
And will reap thorns from what his hands have sown

4. No doubt that sorrow runs its destined course
But the soul of man is prone to think ill

5. My long imprisonment does not shame me
It ripens minds rusted without Temperance

6. I'm but as aloes wood gaining
Fragrance and scent from mingling with the dregs