Life, like the Heavens.
Life, like the heavens, doth endless worlds contain;
Each day’s a world where good or ill holds sway:
For through life’s spacious vistas as we stray
Hour after hour we sow with varying grain.
Sown even to the wayside, down the plane
Of Time thus passes every flying day—
Never, till Time’s brief seasons fade away
Into Eternity, to rise again.
But ’neath the ripening rays of righteous fate,
To blade and ear the seed grows silently,
’Gainst that great day whose reapers angels are:
When all Time’s hours before the Throne laid bare,
World heaped on world, shall for the sickle wait
Of endless death—or immortality.