 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
40
SONNET.
[Time's chariot-wheels delay not—still he keeps]
“Time, with his scythe addrest,
Does mow the flow'ring herbs and goodly things,
And all their glory to the ground down flings,
Where they do wither, and are foully marred.”—
Spencer.
Does mow the flow'ring herbs and goodly things,
And all their glory to the ground down flings,
Where they do wither, and are foully marred.”—
Spencer.
Time's chariot-wheels delay not—still he keeps
His destined course over the world's proud arch,
Hewing down human hearts like tender flow'rs
In Spring's first blush, ere yet they know decay.
His stealthy breath freezes the purple blood
And bows the haughty crest of lordly man;
Wrenches the well strung sinews—racks with pains,
And tortures the dull soul with childish fears.
Exhausted nature droops, yet lingering clings
To frail humanity, while gasp by gasp
The feeble life exhales—each quiv'ring pulse
Tells of the fearful warfare time and death
Hold o'er their victim—soon the conflict ends—
And death around the clay corruption's myriads sends.
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |