Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Flight of Years

The Flight of Years.

The flight of years—how soft, how fleet!How like a winged angel's feet,Departing from the starry throne,On messages of love unknown!A setting sun—a gleaming sailDriving before the western gale,Then lost where ocean's verge appears,Are shadows of the flight of years.

The flight of years—ah, who can tellWhere the departed moments dwell?Lost in what deep and boundless sea?Sunk in what wide eternity?For ever past, for ever gone?No trace to fix a, thought upon;But mirth and grief, and hopes and fears,Are swallowed in the flight of years.

The flight of years—how many an eye,Weeps at the thought of years gone by!Looks back upon the sad array—The restless night—the anxious day;Sees the loved form so pale, so chill,And mourns its broken idol still!While all below, that soothes or cheers,Seems buried in the flight of years.

The flight of years—it bears along,The mighty purpose of the strong,Youth's thousand fond imaginings,And manhood's ardent spiritings; The sigh of love, the sigh of care,The sad forebodings of despair,And pride's approach, and slander's sneers,Sink in the rapid flight of years.

The flight of years—'twill soon be o'er,When the last pilgrim treads the shore;When darkness broods across the sun,And mercy's gracious work is done;When heaven renewed, and earth restored,Shout at the presence of their Lord;Disease and death, and sin and tears,Shall perish with the flight of years.