Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/79

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TIME.
61
    Thou art the voice of Life,
     A sound which seems to say,
    "O prisoner in this gloomy vale,
    Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart, shall fail,
    But fairer scenes thy spirit hail,
     That cannot pass away.
        Here grief and pain
        Thy steps detain,
There in the image of the Lord shalt thou with Jesus reign."

Time.
Time is the changeful shore of life,
 And life's a mighty sea,
Whose billows sweep athwart the deep
 Of dark Eternity.

Death is the pilot fierce and bold,
 Whose vessel bears us hence;
With giant hold and sceptre cold,
 He comes—we know not whence.

He comes, and icy is his hand,
 And terrible his eye;
With stern command, which none withstand,
 He bids his pris'ner die.

Away, away, across the deep
 The silent vessel flies;
No glass can trace its landing-place—
 'Tis hid from human eyes.

From age to age the vessel comes;
 Each year, and month, and day
Some blank is left, some heart bereft—
 For none its course can stay.

Sometimes its sails with holy light
 And heavenly hues appear;
But oft its form is wrapped in storm,
 And thunders speak it near.

Yet there is one of sovereign might,
 In whom all powers combine;
An arm whose sway the dead obey—
 O Saviour! it is Thine.

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