Tis wonderful, how oft is shown 
Unfaithful Hope’s futility! 
The warning record still is thrown 
To darkened eyes that will not see. 
To ears where adder deafness dwells, 
* 
How vain, oh, Time! thy solemn knells! 
’Tis sad — ’tis fearful — thus to see 
Age loitering through life’s little span, 
And mark the imbecility 
Of God’s most perfect creature — man ,— 
In heedless youth his brightest powers 
Wasting away like summer flowers! 
’T is worse than sad! for he should know 
Time’s fleetest pinion e’er is spread, 
And that the pride, the hope, the woe, 
The joy, which have their influence shed 
Upon his life, and checked its stream, 
Are borne along its course — a dream ! 
