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TIME.
TIME, with thy kind and never-wearying powers, Giving whate'er we fondly count as ours; Life, love, hope, faith, the sun, the stars and flowers; All that to man is dear to thee we owe! Yet does he call thee, slayer, robber, thief, And stern, as of his foes thou wert the chief, Filling his path with ruins, pain and grief, Without one tender blessing to bestow!
Nature we laud, when thou, paternal Time, Hast given maturity, as well as prime, To all her works, in every age and clime, Since the first floweret on her bosom grew. Light from the darkness doth thy hand unfold: Beauty from dust we in thy deeds behold: The frail, the dimmed, the withered, worn and old Thy breath dissolves, that they may shine anew.
The city flames, and melts the tottering wall; Again she rises fairer for the fall. Thou beckonest back the flood! and at thy call, From crust-capped mounts volcanic splendors pour. The absent sun his way to morning bends; The waning star to thy command attends, Fills out and burns; and man to dust descends, In hope to live, when thou shalt be no more.