The poetical works of James Montgomery collected by himself |
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TIME:
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 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
TIME:
A RHAPSODY.
Sed fugit, interea, fugit irreparabile tempus.
Virg. Goerg. iii. 284.
Virg. Goerg. iii. 284.
'Tis a mistake: Time flies not,
He only hovers on the wing:
Once born, the moment dies not,
'Tis an immortal thing;
While all is change beneath the sky,
Fix'd like the sun as learned sages prove,
Though from our moving world he seems to move,
'Tis Time stands still, and we that fly.
He only hovers on the wing:
Once born, the moment dies not,
'Tis an immortal thing;
While all is change beneath the sky,
Fix'd like the sun as learned sages prove,
Though from our moving world he seems to move,
'Tis Time stands still, and we that fly.
There is no past; from nature's birth,
Days, months, years, ages, till the end
Of these revolving heavens and earth,
All to one centre tend;
And, having reach'd it late or soon,
Converge,—as in a lens, the rays,
Caught from the fountain-light of noon,
Blend in a point that blinds the gaze:
—What has been is, what is shall last;
The present is the focus of the past;
The future, perishing as it arrives,
Becomes the present, and itself survives.
Time is not progress, but amount;
One vast accumulating store,
Laid up, not lost;—we do not count
Years gone, but added to the score
Of wealth untold, to clime nor class confined,
Riches to generations lent,
For ever spending, never spent,
The' august inheritance of all mankind.
Of this, from Adam to his latest heir,
All in due turn their portion share,
Which, as they husband or abuse,
Their souls they win or lose.
Days, months, years, ages, till the end
Of these revolving heavens and earth,
All to one centre tend;
And, having reach'd it late or soon,
Converge,—as in a lens, the rays,
Caught from the fountain-light of noon,
Blend in a point that blinds the gaze:
—What has been is, what is shall last;
The present is the focus of the past;
The future, perishing as it arrives,
Becomes the present, and itself survives.
330
One vast accumulating store,
Laid up, not lost;—we do not count
Years gone, but added to the score
Of wealth untold, to clime nor class confined,
Riches to generations lent,
For ever spending, never spent,
The' august inheritance of all mankind.
Of this, from Adam to his latest heir,
All in due turn their portion share,
Which, as they husband or abuse,
Their souls they win or lose.
Though History, on her faded scrolls,
Fragments of facts and wrecks of names enrols,
Time's indefatigable fingers write
Men's meanest actions on their souls,
In lines which not himself can blot:
These the last day shall bring to light,
Though through long centuries forgot,
When hearts and sepulchres are bared to sight.
Fragments of facts and wrecks of names enrols,
Time's indefatigable fingers write
Men's meanest actions on their souls,
In lines which not himself can blot:
These the last day shall bring to light,
Though through long centuries forgot,
When hearts and sepulchres are bared to sight.
Then, having fill'd his measure up,
Amidst his own assembled progeny,
(All that have been, that are, or yet may be,)
Before the great white throne,
To Him who sits thereon,
Time shall present the' amalgamating cup,
In which, as in a crucible,
He hid the moments as they fell,
More precious than Golconda's gems,
Or stars in angels' diadems,
Though to our eyes they seem'd to pass
Like sands through his symbolic glass:
But now, the process done,
Of millions multiplied by millions, none
Shall there be wanting,—while, by change
Ineffable and strange,
All shall appear at once, all shall appear as one.
Amidst his own assembled progeny,
(All that have been, that are, or yet may be,)
Before the great white throne,
To Him who sits thereon,
Time shall present the' amalgamating cup,
In which, as in a crucible,
He hid the moments as they fell,
More precious than Golconda's gems,
Or stars in angels' diadems,
Though to our eyes they seem'd to pass
Like sands through his symbolic glass:
But now, the process done,
Of millions multiplied by millions, none
Shall there be wanting,—while, by change
Ineffable and strange,
All shall appear at once, all shall appear as one.
Ah! then shall each of Adam's race,
In that concentred instant, trace,
Upon the tablet of his mind,
His whole existence in a thought combined,
Thenceforth to part no more, but be
Impictured on his memory;
—As in the image-chamber of the eye,
Seen at a glance, in clear perspective, lie
Myriads of forms of ocean, earth, and sky.
Then shall be shown, that but in name
Time and eternity were both the same;
A point which life nor death could sever,
A moment standing still for ever.
In that concentred instant, trace,
Upon the tablet of his mind,
His whole existence in a thought combined,
Thenceforth to part no more, but be
Impictured on his memory;
—As in the image-chamber of the eye,
Seen at a glance, in clear perspective, lie
Myriads of forms of ocean, earth, and sky.
Then shall be shown, that but in name
Time and eternity were both the same;
A point which life nor death could sever,
A moment standing still for ever.
1833.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |