the more we live, more brief appear
our life's succeeding stages
a day to childhood seems a year
and years like passing ages
the gladsome current of our youth
ere passion yet disorders
steals lingering like a river smooth
along its grassy borders
but as the care-worn cheets grow wan
and sorrow's shafts fly thicker
ye stars, that measure life to man
why seem your courses quicker?
when joys have lost their bloom and breath
and life itself is vapid
why, as we reach the falls of death
feel we its tide more rapid?
it may be strange-yet who would change
time's coures to slower speeding
when one by one our friends have gone
and left our bosoms bleeding?
heaven gives our years of fading strength
indemnifying fleetness
and those of youth,a seeming length
proportion'd their sweetness.
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