It rolls in grandeur lone--
The stream of Time;
And on its shores lie strown
The wrecks of every clime--
Fragments of ancient art,
Temples and towers;
And tombs that still impart
Lessons of life's brief hours.
Yes, empires proud and vast,
That rose unchecked,
The mightiest of the past,
Have on that stream been wrecked.
And there, at unknown date,
Have perished names
Renowned of old and great,
Plumed lords and jewelled dames.
And cast like worthless weeds
Upon the wave,
There cherished hopes and creeds
Have found a nameless grave.
Yet onward and sublime
Will ever glide
The silent stream of Time,
That bears us on its tide.
And we, in turn, shall leave
Sad wrecks behind--
The wonders we achieve,
All save immortal mind.
