The gods of chance and circumstance
   Encumber men and mice.
We find the further we advance
   The prize not worth the price.
So year by year the farce survives
   To entertain the gods,
We live our funny little lives;
   We die—and what’s the odds?

Die, no—we but retire to let
   A better take our place;
To god-like heights the stream is set
   That wears a human face.
Ambrosia at length we’ll quaff
   While gods sit round aghast,
And man will have the longest laugh
   Because he’ll laugh the last.