Tobachrauchers, by Bach
Whene’er my trusty pipe
With fine tobacco I fill,
And look forward to passing a pleasant hour
Then it shows me a dismal picture,
And adds the sobering moral
That I’m really not up to much.
When I’ve got the pipe lit up
Then I see that in the twinkling of an eye
The smoke vanishes in thin air,
Leaving nothing behind but the ash behind.
Human fame is just as short-lived,
We die, and our bodies turn to dust.
How often does it happen,
When you’re smoking,
That you don’t have your temper at hand,
So you use your finger instead.
And then, when I’ve burnt myself, I think:
Goodness, if embers bring such pain,
Then how hot is Hell going to be?
With things of this nature I’m able
Whene’er I enjoy my tobacco
To be struck by edifying thoughts.
And so contentedly I puff,
On land, at sea and in my house,
Reverently at my baccy-pipe.
Thanks Teo for the post.