Classic Poem

How many years are fled —
How many friends are dead!
Alas, how fast
The past hath pass'd —
How speedily life hath sped!

Places that knew me of yore,
Know me for their's no more;
And, sore at the change.
Quite strange I range
Where I was at home before.

Thoughts and things each day
Seem to be fading away;
Yet this is, I wot,
Their lot to be not
Continuing in one stay.

A mingled mesh it seems
Of facts and fancy's gleams;
I scarce have power
From hour to hour
To separate things from dreams.

Darkly, as in a glass,
Like a vain shadow they pass;
Their ways they wend,
And tend to an end,
The goal of life, alas!

Alas? and wherefore so?
Be glad for this passing show;
The world and its lust
Back must to their dust
Before the soul can grow.

Expand, my willing mind,
Thy nobler life to find;
Thy childhood leave,
Nor grieve to bereave
Thine age of toys behind.