- 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 merely mortal dross;
- So little is our loss,
- So little is thy gain.
- For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,
- And last of all, thy greedy self consumed,
- 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, to whose happy-making sight alone,
- When once our heavenly-guided soul shall clime,
- Then all this Earthy grossness quit,
- Attired with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
- Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
ON TIME (By: John Milton)
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