Classic Poem

Old Time is a pilgrim — with onward course
He journeys for months, for years;
But the trav'ller to-day must halt perforce —
Behold, a broad river appears!
" Pass me over, " Time cried; " O! tarry not,
For I count each hour with my glass:
Ye whose skiff is moored to yon pleasant spot —
Young maidens, old Time come pass! "

Many maids saw with pity, upon the bank,
The old man with his glass in grief;
Their kindness, he said, he would ever thank,
If they'd row him across in their skiff.
While some wanted Love to unmoor the bark,
One wiser in thought sublime:
" Oft shipwrecks occur, " was the maid's remark:
" When seeking to pass old Time ! "

From the strand the small skiff Love pushed alone —
He crossed to the pilgrim's side,
And taking old Time in his well-trimmed boat,
Dipt his oars in the flowing tide.
Sweetly he sung as he worked at the oar,
And this was his merry song —
" You see, young maidens who crowd the shore
How with Love Time passes along? "

But soon the poor boy of his task grew tired,
As he often had been before;
And faint from his toil, for mercy desired
Father Time to take up the oar.
In his turn grown tuneful, the pilgrim old
With the paddles resumed the lay;
But he changed it and sung, " Young maids, behold
How with Time Love passes away! "