Classic Poem

The Clock's too fast they say;
But what matter, how it gains!
Time will not pass away
Any taster for its pains.

The tiny hands may race
Round the circle, they may range,
The Sun has but one pace,
And his course he cannot change.

The beams that daily shine
On the dial, err not so,
For they're ruled by laws divine,
And they vary not, we know.

But tho' the Clock is fast,
Yet the moments I must say,
More slowly never passed,
Than they seemed to pass to-day.