267. The Flying Wheel

WHEN I was young the days were long,

Oh, long the days when I was young:

So long from morn to evenfall

As they would never end at all.

Now I grow old Time flies, alas!

I watch the years and seasons pass.

Time turns him with his fingers thin

A wheel that whirls while it doth spin.

There is no time to take one’s ease,

For to sit still and be at peace:

Oh, whirling wheel of Time, be still,

Let me be quiet if you will!

Yet still it turns so giddily,

So fast the years and seasons fly,

Dazed with the noise and speed I run

And stay me on the Changeless One.

I stay myself on Him who stays

Ever the same through nights and days:

The One Unchangeable for aye,

That was and will be: the one Stay,

O’er whom Eternity will pass

But as an image in a glass;

To whom a million years are nought,—

I stay myself on a great Thought.

I stay myself on the great Quiet

After the noises and the riot;

As in a garnished chamber sit

Far from the tumult of the street.

Oh, wheel of Time, turn round apace!

But I have found a resting-place.

You will not trouble me again

In the great peace where I attain.