Part I
THIS Indian weed, now withered quite,Though green at noon, cut down at night,Shows thy decay;All flesh is hay:Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
The pipe so lily-like and weak,Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;Thou art e’en such,—Gone with a touch:Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
And when the smoke ascends on high,Then thou behold’st the vanityOf worldly stuff,Gone with a puff:Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
And when the pipe grows foul within,Think on thy soul defiled with sin;For then the fireIt does require:Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
And seest the ashes cast away,Then to thyself thou mayest say,That to the dustReturn thou must.Thus think, and smoke tobacco.