To Time
R
Robert Laurence Binyon
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Time, Time, who choosest
All in the end well;
Who severely refusest
Fames upon trumpets blown
Loud for a day, and alone
Makest truth to excel:
Shadow of God, slowly
Gathering words, long
Scorned, to make them holy,
And deeds like stars bright
That none perceived in the light,
Lifting the weak to be strong:
Shall I not praise thee,
Thou just judge? Yet O
What so long stays thee?
Why must thy feet halt,
While our tears grow salt
And our old hopes go!
Beauty is throned at last;
Truth rings falsehood's knell;
But our strength, our joy is past
While our hearts wait thee:
Time, Time, I hate thee,
Hate thee, and rebel.
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