sean wright - The Gift of Time

The Gift of Time
It is a mystery what we call Time:
A little space of day which turns to night;
A little span of sorrow and delight:
Of tearful dirges and of joy-bells’ chime.
And yet its calm, slow-moving, noiseless feet
Can lead to glory-even thru defeat,
Enclose the wicked within their self-made bars,
And lift God-fearing souls beyond the stars!
O but foolish, blind, ungrateful souls are they
That, heedless, see no gift in each new day.

(Based on “A Jubilee Ode” by Mary Elizabeth Blake)

sean wright

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gift-of-time-2/