214
RAPIDITY OF TIME.
EV'N while we pause, the rapid date
Of life comes rushing on,
The sad heart feels the stroke of fate,
We tremble and are gone:
Gone and forgot, the mourning eye
May moisten as we sleep;
But time shall sooth the rushing sigh,
And dry the eyes that weep.
A little mound of turf, alone
Shall shade our senseless breast;
The clay-cold sod, the burial stone,
Made dark with storms, with moss o'ergrown,
Shall mark our place of rest.