A CAROL FOR TIME.
225
With the worm from her prison my spirit would soar—
Speed, Time, waft my bark to Eternity's shore.
Speed, Time, waft my bark to Eternity's shore.
Then hail, Father Time, with thy locks floating free
As waves the gray moss from the tall forest tree;
Life's pathway is gemmed with bright memories rare,
No hand but thine own could have scattered them there.
As waves the gray moss from the tall forest tree;
Life's pathway is gemmed with bright memories rare,
No hand but thine own could have scattered them there.
But bribe him I may not—no, old Father Time
Will not list to my wooing, or stay for my rhyme;
For while tuning my harp, he has borne me along,
Nor folded his wing to give heed to my song.
Will not list to my wooing, or stay for my rhyme;
For while tuning my harp, he has borne me along,
Nor folded his wing to give heed to my song.
