When ye from infant toys have flown,
far from boyhood realms, to manly status grown,
shalt thou seek with ever pursuant flair
ambitious wealth, employing uncouth prayer
and thy mortal ear, inert to Doyen's sway,
whose prize, is measured in the gift of every day,
whose, once treasured threads of youth, alleviate
the woven pain, embroidered in the tapestry of fate,
though now the coloured rainbow, is sun clothed spun,
the waiting moon, has yet its course to run,
so, speak a virtuous charter that vice may overhear
and thoughts, that would to all goodness steer,
make proud the path, and with companions share
thy cherished creation, whose seconds are so rare.