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TIME
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

TIME

Dark dealing power! around thy way
The wrecks of human grandeur lay;
Oblivion's waters, cold and black,
Roll onward in thy gloomy track,
And darkly hide from mortal ken,
The traces where thy course hath been.
The proudest things that earth hath known,
The gorgeous splendor of a throne,
The crest, and kingly diadem—
Thy peerless arm hath scattered them;
And power that shook the world with dread,
Lies crushed beneath thy mighty tread!
Successive years around thee flow,
Yet leave no traces round thy brow—
Revealing and destroying all;
As firmly now thy footsteps fall,
As when at first thy course was given;
And thy dread limits marked by Heaven.
Mysterious power! still deep and strong
Thy tide of years shall roll along—
The sun shall leave his home on high,
The moon and stars of heaven shall die;
But thou shalt be the last to fall—
The conquerer and end of all!
Haverhill Gazette, November 17, 1827
 

“Time” was reprinted in the Boston Statesman on January 19, 1828. Preceding, was the following editorial note.

J. G. Whittier.—A youth of this name, whose early life, like that of the Bloomfield and the Hogg of the British Poesy was occupied in manual occupations, and whose untutored ear first caught the tones of inspiration in the many voices of Nature, and whose heart was awakened to the sweet breathings of the muse only by a contemplation of the glories of Creation,—has recently emerged from his obscurity as an anonymous newspaper contributor, and announced his intention of publishing a volume of his effusions. He is a Quaker and has been nurtured in the straitness of his sect, and therefore it is the more surprising that his compositions should be replete as they are, with that peculiar fervor and animation and intensity of thought, which is supposed attainable only by an attentive study of the best models.

“They only who have been much among old books,” says some greybeard of literature, “can carry with them into their own writings that firmness and solidity which are the true stamina of poetry.” If this remark be generally true, then is Mr. Whittier an exception to an acknowledged rule, as we think those of our readers will confess who peruse the following stanzas originally published in the Haverhill Gazette.