As on this whirligig of Time/ We circle with the seasons.

Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.

Nourishing a youth sublime/ With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.

Time driveth onward fast,/ And in a little while our lips are dumb./ Let us alone. What is it that will last?/ All things are taken from us, and become/ Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.

I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist