Classic Poem

What poor little fellows are we!
Tho' we manage to make a great show,
Yet death has a claim on us all,
And the king and the beggar must go.
How vain the distinctions we make!
Neither wisdom nor wealth can us save,
But the prince and the peasant alike
Are journeying on to the grave.

Then why should we listen to aught
Which pride or which vanity saith?
We're all on the current of time,
And bound for the narrows of death.
The shafts of misfortune and fate
Know neither the high nor the low;
We're brothers to sorrow alike—
And the king and the beggar must go.