The clock upon the mantel-piece is ticking; Thus hour by hour it tolls a funeral chime: By day and night its calm and constant clicking Denotes the speed of the old traveller Time. It is a solemn voice. Who hath an ear To hear its warning accents, let him hear, And preparation make to meet the day When he, alone, shall lie upon the brink Of human life, and death shall bid him drink The hemlock cup that none can put away. What though man turn from the unwelcome theme, Will Time sit still for man’s forgetfulness?-- To watch and wake were wiser than to dream And wake at last to wo remediless. _MacKellar._ * * * * * The world’s great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn: Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. A brighter Hellas rears its mountains From waves serener far; A new Peneus rolls its fountains Against the morning-star. Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads, on a sunnier deep; A loftier Argos cleaves the main, Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again, And loves, and weeps, and dies. A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore. Oh, write no more the tale of Troy, If earth Death’s scroll must be! Nor mix with Laian rage the joy Which dawns upon the free: Although a subtile sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew, Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendour of its prime; And leave, if naught so bright may live, All earth can take or heaven can give. Saturn and Love their long repose Shall burst, more wise and good 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! _Shelley._ * * * * * Time past and time to come are not-- Time present is our only lot; O 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._ * * * * *