  I. Time! let me stand upon that wall Which bounds the future and the past, While at my feet thy moments fall, Like billows driven by the blast: Cold, brief, and dim must be the gaze, Back o'er the fields laid waste by thee; And clouds, impervious to all rays, Brood o'er futurity. II. Yet backward let me take one look, Through memory's glass, grown dim by age, And ponder on life's tattered book, Too late to re-peruse one page; As when the ear, in quest of notes An unlearned melody has shed, Calls for each echo where it floats, When all its tones are fled. III. Thy scythe and glass, O Time! are not The symbols of thy gentler powers: Thou makest the most dejected lot Seem light, through thy inverted hours: Thou makest us cherish infant grief, And long for all the tears it cost; Thou art to thy own woes relief— Thou beautifiest the lost! IV. Then let me stand upon the wall Which bounds the future and the past, And gaze upon the waste where all Life's hopes have perished by thy blast. Though dark and chilling to the gaze Are all the fields laid waste by thee, 'Tis sunshine to the hopeless rays Which light futurity. Buffalo, May, 1837. |
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