 | Xeniola |  |
1
TIME.
Seen through pure crystal the imprisoned sand,Without a murmur, counts its flowing hour;—
The dial's shifting bar of shade;—the hand
Of the hall-clock, that with a life-like power
Moves undisturbed:—the equal pulse of Time
Throbs on, as beats man's heart in happy health,
Not noticed, yet how sure! with easy stealth,
Unwearied in its ministry sublime:—
And there are those to whom the matin lark
Proclaims day's duties, or the cock, whose cheer
Came sad to panic-stricken Simon's ear,
When for a little moment Faith was dark:—
Frail heart!—that still believed, yet shook to hear
The storm of man's vain anger round his bark!
1824.
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