7
But something inward seems to tell,
Another day will do as well.
"Now is the time the accepted time,"
Speaks audibly a page sublime;
Another creed is heard to say,
Wait till a more convenient day.
Enquir'st thou which of these is truth?
Which to obey—unwary youth?
Go—ask of nature in thy walk.
The rose-bud, dying on its stalk,
The fading grass—the withering tree,
Are emblems of thy fate and thee.
Ask of the stream or torrent hoarse,
To linger in its wonted course;
Ask of the bird to stay its flight,
Bid the pale moon prolong her light,
And listen to their answering tone,
"A future day is not our own."
And is it thine? Oh, spurn the cheat,
Resist the smooth—the dire deceit;
Lest, while thou dream'st of long delay,
Thine hour of action pass away,
Thy prospects fade—thy joys be o'er,
Thy time of hope return no more.
Ask of the Roman—pale with fear,
While judgment thunder'd in his ear,
