Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker.

Whene're I take my pipe and stuff it
And smoke to pass the time away
My thoughts, as I sit there and puff it
Dwell on a picture sad and grey
It teaches me that very like
Am I myself unto my pipe

Like me this pipe, so fragrant burning
Is made of naught but earthen clay
To earth I too shall be returning
And cannot halt my slow decay
My well used pipe, now cracked and broken
Of mortal life is but a token

No stain, the pipe's hue yet doth darken
It remains white. Thus do I know
That when to death's call I must hearken
My body too, all pale will grow
To black beneath the sod 'twill turn
Likewise the pipe, if oft it burn

Or when the pipe is fairly glowing
Behold then instantaneously
The smoke off into thin air going
'Til naught but ask is left to see
Man's fame likewise away will burn
And unto dust his body turn

How oft' it happens when one's smoking
The tamper's missing from it's shelf
And on goes with one's finger poking
Into the bowl and burns oneself
If in the pipe such pain doth dwell
How hot must be the pains of Hell!

Thus o'er my pipe in contemplation
Of such things - I can constantly
Indulge in fruitful meditation
And so, puffing contentedly
On land, at sea, at home, abroad
I smoke my pipe and worship God.

-Johann Sebastian Bach (1725)