Rapidity and uncertainty of time.

MY days, my weeks, my months, my years Fly rapid as the whirling spheres Around the steady pole; Time, like a tide, its motion keeps, And I must launch through gloomy deeps, Where ages ever roll. The grave is near the cradle seen; How swift the moments pass between, And whisper as they fly: Unthinking man, remember this— Though fond of sublunary bliss— That thou must groan and die.

My soul, attend the solemn call! Thy earthly tent must shortly fall, And thou must take thy flight, Beyond the vast expansive blue, To sing above, as angels do, Or sink in gloomy night.