POEMS OF SENTIMENT. I. TIME. TIME THE SUPREME. FROM "NIGHT THOUGHT3," NIGHT I. THE bell strikes one we take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue, Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours: Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch; How much is to be done! my hopes and fears And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? Time the supreme!-Time is eternity; Pregnant with all eternity can give; Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile. Who murders time, he crushes in the birth Ah! how unjust to Nature and himself, To lash the lingering moments into speed, O, what a riddle of absurdity! Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot wheels: How heavily we drag the load of life! And all mankind, in contradiction strong, DR. EDWARD YOUNG. TO-MORROW. FROM IRENE." TO-MORROW's action! can that hoary wisdom, SAMUEL JOHNSON. THREE DAYS. So much to do: so little done! Ah! yesternight I saw the sun Sink beamless down the vaulted gray,- So little done so much to do! Each morning breaks on conflicts new; |