The Book of Time

The Book-of-Time, each page a year,
With every word a hope or fear,
Thereon impressed in lines of light
Would bid us read its truths aright,

The Book-of-Time a volume vast,
The royal record of a past
Wherein a century ’s a day,
Before eternity’s broad sway.

The Book-of-Time ’tis bound in gold,
This mammoth book no man can hold;
And angel fingers wield the pen
That writeth of the deeds of men.

The Book-of-Time transcribed shall lie
As open as the fair blue sky;
Many a loving heart shall find
How wise it was in being kind.