Time! On whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
Drag or drive us to die . . . ,
You! Who on my birth’s bestowed
Those boons to all that know you known,
Yet better I sustain your load,
For now I bear the load alone.
I could find just one heart to share
The bitter moments you have given,
And pardon you since you couldn’t spare
All that I loved to peace or heaven.
To than be joy or rest, on me
Your future ills shall press in vain,
I shall owe nothing but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain. . . . . .