Classic Poem

One came and laid his hand on me and said,
" O you who gird at me with scornful rhyme,
And take my gifts unthanking: — I am Time.
I gave that tree which glitters overhead
Its vernal green, and now its gold and red,
In due succession of my changeful year;
I give the throbbing joys you love so dear;
I give the untroubled silence of the dead.

'Tis I who build the cloudy walls that flame
In pomp of rose and purple in the glow
Of that pure light no mortal eye can see;
I am the flesh and bones and bodily frame
Of that eternal Presence whom you know,
And know Him only as you know by me."