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32

Eheu! fugaces.

The flying years! the flying years!
How rapidly they wing away,—
With all their covey'd hopes and fears
A mingled flock of grave and gay!
Look on the Past,—a dream, a dream
Of saddening thoughts and cloudy things;
Look at the Future,—does it seem
Less than a Fate with folded wings?
Look to the Present,—this indeed
Is worth our all of cost and care,
And daily bread for daily need
Is Wisdom's solitary pray'r.