 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
On my Parish-Register Chest
In the scant compass of this iron chestLie the brief records of three hundred years,
The mute memorials of their smiles and tears;
Here side by side ten generations rest,
As with Time's iron hand together prest;
A catalogue of names all that appears—
Faded their joys, forgotten are their fears,
And all the eager hopes they once possessed.
46
Read the dim notice of a long-past wedding,
How one was born, and overleaf was buried;
Thus swift and silent pass successive ages,
Like autumn trees their leaves for ever shedding,
Which into vast Eternity are hurried.
| Lyra Pastoralis | |