TIME. 39 



A wearj journey to the furthest verge 



Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand, 



Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art, 



Preserves a lowly mind ; and to his God, 



Feeling the sense of his own littleness, 



Is as a child in meek simplicity ! 



"What is the pomp of learning ? the parade 



Of letters and of tongues? E'en as the mists 



Or the grey morn before the rising sun, 



That pass away and perish. 



Earthly things 

 Are but the transient pageants of an hour ; 

 And earthly pride is like the passing flower, 

 That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die. 

 'Tis as the tower erected on a cloud, 

 Baseless and silly as the school-boy's dream. 

 Ages and epochs that destro}^ our pride 

 And then record its downfal, what are they 

 But the poor creatures of man's teeming brain ? 

 Hath Heaven its ages ; or doth Heaven preserve 

 Its stated eras ? Doth the Omnipotent 

 Hear of to morrows or of yesterdays ? 

 There is to God nor future nor a past : 

 Throned in his might, all times to him are present; 

 He hath no lapse, no past, no time to come ; 

 He sees before him one eternal now. 

 Time moveth not ! — Our being 'tis that moves : 

 And we, swift gliding down life's rapid stream, 

 Dream of swift ages and revolving years, 

 Ordain'd to chronicle our passing days : 

 So the young sailor in the gallant bark. 

 Scudding before the wind, beholds the coast 

 Receding from his eyes, and thinks the while. 

 Struck with amaze, that he is motionless. 

 And that the land is sailing. 



Such, alas ! 

 Are the illusions of this proteus life ? 

 All, all is false. — Through every phasis still 

 'Tis shadowy and deceitful. — It assumes 

 The semblances of things, and specious shapes ; 



