Classic Poem

1

What Mortal man can with his Span
mete out Eternity?
Or fathom it by depth of Wit,
or strength of Memory?
The lofty Sky is not so high,
Hells depth to this is small:
The World so wide is but a stride,
compared therewithall.

2

It is a main great Ocean,
withouten bank or bound:
A deep Abyss, wherein there is
no bottom to be found.
This World hath stood now since the Flood,
four thousand years well near,
And hath before endured more
than sixteen hundred year.

3

But what's the time from the Worlds prime
unto this present day,
If we thereby Eternity
to measure should assay?
The whole duration since the Creation
though long, yet is more little,
If placed by Eternity,
then is the smallest tittle.

4

Tell every Star both near and far,
in Heav'ns bright Canopee,
That doth appear throughout the year,
of high or low degree:
Tell every Tree that thou canst see
in this vast Wilderness,
Up in the Woods, down by the Floods,
in thousand miles progress.

5

The sum is bast, yet not so vast,
but that thou may'st go on
To multiply the Leaves thereby,
that hang those Trees upon:
And thereunto the Drops, that thou
imaginest to be
In April Show'rs, that bring forth Flow'rs,
and blossoms plenteously.

6

Number the Fowls and living Souls
that through the Air do Fly,
The winged Hosts in all their Coasts
beneath the Starry Sky:
Count all the Grass as thou doast pass
through many a pasture-land,
And dewy Drops that on the tops
of Herbs and Plants do stand.

7

Number the Sand upon the Strand,
and Atomes of the Air;
And do thy best on Man and Beast,
to reckon every Hair:
Take all the Dust, if so thou lust,
and add to thine Account:
Yet shall the Years of sinners tears,
the Number far surmount.

8

Nought joyn'd to nought can ne're make ought,
nor Cyphers make a Sum:
Nor things Finite, to infinite
by multiplying come:
A Cockle-shell may serve as well
to lade the Ocean dry,
As finite things and Reckonings
to bound Eternity.

9

O happy they that live for aye,
with Christ in Heav'n above!
Who know withal, that nothing shall
deprive them of his love
Eternity, Eternity!
Oh, were it not for thee,
The Saints in bliss and happiness
could never happy be.

10

For if they were in any fear,
that this their joy might cease,
It would annoy (if not destroy)
and interrupt their peace:
But being sure it shall endure
so long as God shall live;
The thoughts of this unto their bliss,
do full perfection give.