240 
Than all who fell, than one who rose, 
Than many unwithstood — • 
Not gold, nor blood, their altar dowers. 
But native tears and symbol flowers. 
Oh cease! must hate and death return? 
Cease ! must men kill and die ? 
Cease ! drain not to its dregs the urn 
Of bitter prophecy. 
The world is weary of the past — 
Oh, might it die or rest at last ! 
Shdley. 
Time past and time to come are not — 
Time pi'esent is our only lot ; 
God, henceforth our hearts incline 
To seek no other love than thine ! 
Montgomery. 
Then haste thee. Time — 'tis kindness all 
That speeds thy winged feet so fast ; 
Thy pleasures stay not till they pall. 
And all thy pains are quickly past. 
Bryant. 
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back. 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 
Those scraps are good deeds past: which are de- 
voured 
As fast as they are made, forgotten as soon 
As done. 
Shakspeare. 
