On Time / Milton, John

                                      1645
                                    ON TIME
                                 by John Milton

  Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
  Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
  Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
  And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
  Which is no more then what is false and vain,
  And meerly mortal dross;
  So little is our loss,
  So little is thy gain.
  For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
  And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
  Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
  With an individual kiss;
  And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
  When every thing that is sincerely good
  And perfectly divine,
  With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
  About the supreme Throne
  Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone,
  When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
  Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
  Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
    Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.

                   -THE END-
.

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