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Still onward, onward thou dost press
With low and measured tread,
Peopling with cold and lifeless forms
The cities of the dead;
Throwing around the young and fair
The shadow of thy wing,
And stealing from each human heart
Some loved and cherished thing.
With low and measured tread,
Peopling with cold and lifeless forms
The cities of the dead;
Throwing around the young and fair
The shadow of thy wing,
And stealing from each human heart
Some loved and cherished thing.
Yet deep, deep in each thrilling heart
One fount remaineth still,
Which hoary Time nor icy Death
Hath power to touch or chill:
It is the holy fount of Love,
Whose waters hallowed lie,
Filled from that everlasting source,
The well-spring from on high.
One fount remaineth still,
Which hoary Time nor icy Death
Hath power to touch or chill:
It is the holy fount of Love,
Whose waters hallowed lie,
Filled from that everlasting source,
The well-spring from on high.
We cannot stay thy footsteps, Time!
Thy flight no hand can bind
Save His, whose foot is on the sea,
Whose voice is in the wind;
Yet, when the stars from their bright spheres
Like living flames are hurled,
Thy mighty form will sink beneath
The ruins of the world.
Thy flight no hand can bind
Save His, whose foot is on the sea,
Whose voice is in the wind;
Yet, when the stars from their bright spheres
Like living flames are hurled,
Thy mighty form will sink beneath
The ruins of the world.
