Time

A shaded figure gazes o’er

The stars and planets cast before

His ancient sight; recalls he well

When song of life began its spell

And in the void of nothingness,

There sprang up light and vividness.


Before this spectre, all has passed:

The birth of stars in spaces vast,

The rise of kingdoms great and strong

That held their scepters lifetimes long;

Yet none have lasted long as he,

Creation’s scribe so tasked to be.


The countless ages, changing lands,

All chronicled in ghostly hand

That no mere mortal ever been

Could with his eyes of flesh have seen;

Yet record from of old is kept,

As centuries pass with quickening step.


How many years, when day is dead,

Shall ancient scribe have on his head?

How many worlds have come and gone

Before his face, so dull and wan?

Or is his life to measured be

By days and years, as ours would be?


Or is this ghost, who witnesses

All that has come, what then will pass,

Beyond the reach of mortal doom?

For as we here all fade so soon,

He sits, and record faithfully

He writes, enthroned on trackless sea.


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