Classic Poem

The Now into the Past is flitting,
Never again to reappear;
And solemn Death is ever sitting
Beside the portal of each year;
And man must also pass away,
And leave this narrow sphere below
None of those forms are here to-day
That lived a hundred years ago.

Eyes that with love were overflowing,
Hands that were warmly clasped in hands,
Hearts that with tenderness were glowing,
Souls knit in pure affection's bands: —
All these have floated down the tide
Of time, which runs with ceaseless flow,
And with them all the joy and pride
That graced — a hundred years ago.

And o'er the lapse of years long faded
We look upon the bygone days, —
The world by gloom and mist is shaded,
And all is strange that meets our gaze:
We have no smiles to greet the mirth,
No tears to mingle with the woe,
Of those who lived upon the earth
More than a hundred years ago.

Yet every word which then was spoken,
And every thought that wrung the brow
And strove for utterance faint and broken,
Exert an influence on the Now —
An influence which for ever throws
Its power o'er all, and serves to show
That we are kindred still to those
Who lived a hundred years ago.

Then wherefore should we still endeavour
To mar the wise and God-like plan
Which strives to prove to us for ever
The brotherhood of man to man?
A thousand echoes ringing loud,
A thousand voices whispering low,
Tell what we owe unto the crowd
Who lived a hundred years ago.