■ 🕑 4. Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker
│  Whene'er 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 harken
│  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 ash 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 its shelf,
│  And one 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. 
│   
└─■ 🕑 5. 
    that was btw, J.S. Bach: So oft ich meine Tobakspfeife...