Classic Poem

Old Father Time, with nod sublime,
And hammer in his hand,
Proclaims aloud, as from a cloud,
The sale of sea and land,
With hammer in his hand.

Ask not for grace, but take your place,
And hear him cry the sale:
He speaks in tones that shatter thrones,
Nor lists to those who wail.
Ah, hear him cry the sale!

Before him lies full many a prize
In rich array displayed:
Yes, all that's dear to mortals here,
Of life, its light and shade,
In rich array displayed.

He breaks life's spell, nor grieves to sell
Fond hopes to which we cling, —
Honor and fame, and wealth and name, —
Vain things: what will they bring?
Fond hopes to which we cling!

He spareth nought, not e'en a thought,
Though beautiful and true,
But strikes down all, then flings a pall,
And screens the world from view,
The beautiful and true.

Nor does he wait at heaven's high gate,
Nor does he shed a tear,
But breaks the bars, and smites the stars,
And dark grows every sphere:
Nor does he shed a tear,

But doomed now dies, 'neath blackened skies,
Remembered nevermore;
And now, downcast, the silent Past
In darkness hides her store, —
Remembered nevermore.