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TO TIME. 



MARK yonder village churchyard tower 

 With moss and lichens overgrown ; 



A choicer emblem of thy power, 

 Old Time! could not be shown. 



Without, full many a tombstone see 

 Beside the churchyard's narrow ways, 



That lift themselves in type of thee, 

 Pale Sexton of past days ! 



Within, a rope of many a thread 

 Intwin'd with curious craft is there, 



And see a bell, whose hollow head 

 Is pillowed by the air. 



That bell is thine, and thine the string, 

 Wherewith the hopes of man are twin'd ; 



And ever doth thy right hand ring 

 That emblem of the mind ! 



And ever doth a knell go forth 

 From yonder tower, rung by thee, 



To warn the proud ones of the earth 

 That pride must cease to be ! 



From hour to hour, from day to day, 

 Who doth not hear that weary knell, 



In deep unchanging echoes, say 

 One solemn word Farewell! 



Farewell to childhood's merry years, 

 When cherub beauty danced along, 



Devoid of grief unknown to tears, 

 And mirthful in its own sweet song ! 



Farewell to the gay dreams of youth, 

 The sunny visions Hope prepares : 



When life hath still the bloom of truth, 

 Untainted by the blight of cares ! 



Farewell to manhood's prouder prime, 

 Or virgin beauty's roseate grace; 



(The tender link'd with the sublime, 

 In man's terrestrial dwelling-place). 



And with these changes, so farewell 



To all the blessings each had brought : 



The love of those we lov'd to tell 



Our nearest wish, our dearest thought, 



The friendly sympathetic glow 

 Of bosoms kindling like our own, 



With impulses gone long ago, 



Or rashly cropt, or wrongly sown ! 



