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Miscellaneous Poems

by Henry Francis Lyte

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Fly, ye Hours
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


54

Fly, ye Hours

[_]

—For Music

Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest:
Best are they that fleet the lightest!
Man, be wise:
Thy earthly joys
Are poor, compared with those thou slightest.
The world we roam
Is not our home:
We seek a rest that aye remaineth.
Through weal or woe,
From all below
We haste to scenes where nothing paineth.
Fly, ye hours, etc.

55

It is not life,
This toil and strife:
These only serve from God to sever.
We hope to rise
Above the skies;
And there shall live, and live for ever.
Fly, ye hours, etc.
Can that be gain,
Whose charms detain
The soul from glory's richer treasures?
Can that be woe,
That serves to throw
A brighter hue o'er coming pleasures?
Fly, ye hours, the best, the brightest!
Thou that in the world delightest,
Rise, O rise
To nobler joys;
And taste the bliss which now thou slightest.