[From Poems; by Rev Robert Brown, 1826]

WRITTEN FOR A CHILD,
DECEMBER 31, 1824.

TIME with unwearied pinion flies,
And never-ceasing motion;
Swift as the wave when the tempest sighs
On the face of the foaming ocean.

Before another morning's ray
Has from the deep ascended,
A wave of time will have rolled away,
Another year will have ended.

As short as hath been its career,
How many health enjoying,
When first came forth the departing year,
Are now in the cold grave lying.

As many, as unnumbered these,
As waves the lone beach laving,
Or withering leaflets torn from the trees,
When autumnal storms are raving.

How often, since the year began,
Has youth, by death invaded,
Been seen like the snow of winter wan,
Like the flower of autumn faded !

From the grey tower, with many a cell
And monument surrounded,
How oft have I heard the dreary knell
For the young-the infant, sounded.

Though few the years yet spent by me
In this dark world of sorrow,
Ah! who can foretell that I shall see
The sun that will gild to-morrow?

For me the death-bell then may toll,
And friends for me be mourning;
Removed from its house of clay, my soul
May be here no more sojourning.

Then let me seek, without delay,
To be through Christ forgiven;
Thus the dread summons, come when it may,
Will find me prepared for heaven.

Any comments, errors or omissions gratefully received The Editor HTML Transcription © F.Coakley , 2008